An Armored Bird
by dreamdark111
Summary: Eliza set foot into Westeros believing she would kill those who had wronged her, however she never expected to be taken in by the Stark family. Now, beloved by her newfound homeland, Eliza will be roped into the Game of Thrones. Pain, love, and blood await her journey as she fights to protect those she holds dear.
1. Prologue

Prologue

It's cold. So very, very, very, cold.

After so many years in Braavos, the biting breath of the North is hard to bare. Even with all the layers of leather I have piled on, the wind still cuts through me like a knife. My teeth are chattering, and my fingers tremble inside their thin gloves. I didn't prepare well enough for this journey.

Six days, I have now been roaming my way through the North. I am far from the sea, and leagues south of the wall, but that is all that I know. A few days back my compass slipped from my numb fingers and was lost to the snow. Since then I have been roaming around praying to the gods that I will make my way into some small village or anything with a warm hearth burning. So far I have had no luck and I can feel the coldness seeping its way deep into my spirt.

Once or twice I have found the sudden urge to tug my dagger from its sheath and bury it into my stomach, but the purpose for my cold prevents me from doing so. I must survive. I must make it southward. I must exact my revenge.

My knees shake and I plop onto the ground without warning. My breath fans out before me in a cold of dragon-smoke and I wish that dragons still drew breath for even the bite of dragon fire would be a blessing on me now. I attempt to tug my legs out from under me but they don't budge. I try to pull them out but I cannot even tell if my hands are touching the wool and leather of my trousers. I cannot feel anything.

A rough breeze whooshes through the air and forces my torso over like a falling tree. My face hits the fluffy white pillow of freezing death and I'm surprised to find how quickly every inch of me goes numb. For the first time I can actually feel myself giving up; the life draining out of me. All my reasons for existence seem to slowly slip away and the comfort of death comes creeping in.

I close my eyes and listen to the wind blow through the trees. The quite scurrying footsteps of a small animal prancing across the snow. The soft sound of snow blowing through the wind. The sound of a horse neighing.

Wait. What?

I use all the energy I can muster to pull my eyelids open. The tiniest slit of light pierces my vision and in the distance I see a horse heading towards me. I open my mouth to cry out but only a dry heave escapes as a whisper on my lips.

As the horse draws nearer I can just make out a fur covered figure on its back. From the size I would presume a young child, most likely a boy. As he draws closer I can see dark curly hair whip behind him as the horse draws near. He is very young. Possible no more than seven. Too young to be on his own, so there must be others nearby. No sooner does the thought come to me do I see more figures materializing from the snow behind him.

I feel the corners of my lip quirk upwards as the hope for rescue comes closer, but that hope quickly vanishes when I see an arrow go zooming past the young black haired boys ear. I hear shouts and cries coming from the tiny part running after the boy and his horse.

My attention is so focused on the troop approaching that I don't realize that the horse is literally on top of me. I flip onto my back just in time to see the horse rear up backwards to avoid me. The boy tumbles off and plops into the snow a few feet beside me.

His head quickly flies up from the snow, his cheeks and nose bright red and his breathing heavy. He glances around looking for his horse until he sees me and his eyes widen. He pants so quickly I'm surprised he can see me through the fog of his breath.

"Who are you?" he squeaks.

I attempt to respond but it's useless. My mouth and throat are far too dry for any sound to escape my lips.

The boys eyes shift away from me and I see the panic set into them even more as we both watch his horse fly off into the snowy mist. He rises to his feet and attempts to chase after it but quickly realizes it's a pointless effort.

It's then I remember the figures chasing after the boy and I quickly look round. They are close enough now that I can make them out. Three men and two women. All wearing fur-styled coats and pants. All carrying some form a weapon, whether it be a spear, bow and arrow, sword, or axe. I see the one with a dagger in his hand come up behind the young boy still looking after his horse. I scream out in an attempt to warn him forgetting that my voice is useless.

The man wraps his left arm around the boy's shoulders preventing him from using his own arms, and points the dagger at the boys throat with his right hand. I feel my fingers twitch slightly attempting to reach for my sword hidden between my body and the snow. The man tugs the boy around so he's facing my direction and I see the outline of a symbol on his chest. It looks like the head of a wolf.

"Well, well now," A gruff voice chuckles above me dragging my attention above me. The man with the axe, who looks to be around forty years of age, wraps his hand around my arm and tugs me to my feet. I make sure to lean specifically so that my sword is not visible to anyone.

"Who would you be now?" the man smiles a gapping toothed smile at me. He leers at me, checking my body from head to toe and I desperately wish I could tell him to keep his damn eyes to himself.

"Well," he bellows when he sees the look in my eyes, "You have fire in your eyes lass. Quite lovely pare you got there two. One brown, one blue. I've never seen the like of it before."

"Oh would you shut it Oliver!" cries one of the women on his left.

"Jealous are you Hana?" the man holding the boy chuckles and I see the tip of the dagger bounce closer to the boys throat.

"Shut your damn mouth!" the woman, Hana, shouts. The man laughs again and the tip of the blade pricks the boys throat and I see a speck of blood come oozing out. My teeth grind against each other at the sight of the speck of crimson in the white backdrop.

"Hey!" cries the man with his gloved hand wrapped around my forearm. "Watch it! He's more use to us alive!" His hand shifts around my arm for a more comfortable hold and he doesn't realize that I'm standing on my own.

I take a glance around me and take in all the information I can. The man holding my arm, Oliver, the woman Hana on his left, the other woman with the bow and arrow and the man with the sword stand six paces in front of me and three paces from the man holding the boy. Five people, one little boy without a weapon, and me. Weak, dehydrated, freezing, adrenaline filled me.

I count.

One.

My left hand slips behind my back and my fingers wrap around the hilt of my dagger. I pluck the dagger out and bring it to my side and take a breath.

Two.

I spin my right arm in a semi-circle so that Oliver's grip is loosened and his had flings away from me. I spin to face him, burying my feet in to snow to steady my stance, bring my left hand up and jam the blade into the side of his throat. The blood gushes out and onto my fingers. I tug the blade free and a splotch of red paints the virginal white snow at me feet before Oliver's body tumbles on top of it.

Three.

I spin around and toss my dagger into the chest of the woman across me. The arrow she had knocked crashes to the ground five seconds before she does.

I unsheathe my sword and spin to my left meeting Hana's blade. A tiny smirk licks my lips and I pull away my sword with a flick and cut just below her right eye. The shock stuns her momentarily giving me the chance to bury my sword into her left thigh. She shrieks in pain and crashes down onto her knees, her sword slipping from her grasp and burying itself into the snow. I pull my sword away and jamb the peen block of my hilt into the gut of the man coming up behind me. I hear his sword quietly thump into the snow behind me. I spin around and simultaneously slice the throat of kneeling Hana and kick the leg out from under the man behind me.

As Hana's dead body drops to the ground so does the surprised figure now laying at my feet. He looks up on me with fear in his eyes and I feel a pang of guilt stab into my chest. The guilt is short lived however when I see his fingers desperately grappling for his sword. I flick my foot, my toe catching the base of his sword and toss it out of his grasp. As he looks after his last chance of survival I bring my sword up above his chest and take the grip in both my hands. He looks back at me the instant my point pierces his heart and I watch as the life leaves his eyes.

My breathing is heavy and my hands shake slightly on the grip of my sword. My knees are shaking a little doing their best to support my weight. I can see the fog of my breath blow away in the breeze and all seems so calm and quiet. Then I hear a whimper.

I tug my sword out of the freezing flesh with a jolt and return it to the sheath at my side. I glance over to my left to see the young boy still wrapped in the grasp of the white-furred other. The man looks at his dead friends with wide blue eyes and his body is convulsing. His grip is loose enough for the boy to wriggle free but the daggers tip still jammed into the young boys pale throat. I take a step away from the body and the man takes a shuffling step backwards, dragging the boy along with him.

I can feel the adrenaline wearing off in my veins but I can't let it show. I push myself through the snow with as much strength as I can. I reach Hana's corpse, her sole surviving friend's eyes follow me. I reach down and pluck my dagger from her chest. I'm about to turn and face the child-holding bastard when I see a water skin strapped to Hana's belt. I almost sigh with relief as I reach down and untie it from her belt.

The man shuffles behind me as I take a good long chug of water. The moisturizing sensation spreads through my mouth and down my throat. I take in a deep breath and feel tiny crystals of ice form on my lips. I can't help but smile gleefully and when I turn around to face them another shot of fear coats the man's eyes at my unnatural smile.

"If you come any closer," the man's voice trembles almost as much as his hands do. "I'll kill him."

My fingers play with the pommel of my sword in a teasing manner; visible so as to warn the man that I have no hesitation about killing him. However, he can't see my other fist tightly grasped behind my back so that my nails pierce through the clothy fabric and into my palm. The pain helps me keep my blood pumping and remain standing.

"Please…" the boy whimpers before the man shakes him by the shoulders telling him to shut up.

"Let the boy go."

For half a second I think that I was the one who spoke. After all, it was exactly what I was thinking. When I see the man's eyes gazing over my shoulder however I know they were not. I look behind me to see what I believe is a hunting party all astride horses. There must be almost twenty men, five of which have arrows pointed directly at the white-furred man.

"Let him go!" the gruff voice, belonging to the fair-haired elder man at the head of the party, shouts.

I turn back round and look at the white-furred dagger holder. I see his teeth clench, his grip on the dagger tighten, the look of determination in his eyes.

"No!" I cry out, my hand wrapped around the dagger and thrown before I even realize I've done it.

The boy has gone even paler then he already is and the man has frozen solid for a split instant before his knees give out and he topples over to the ground. My dagger sticking out of his chest, right where the heart is. The boys eyes stare at me. No doubt I am a frightening sight. My lips are cracked and bleeding, my skin most likely frost bitten and turning blue, the blood of the white-furred men splattered on my dark leather clothes, my hand still outstretched from throwing the dagger.

My hand slowly slips down to my side. I hear a fwump as a man jumps off his horse behind me.

"Brandon!" It is the elderly blond haired man who comes rushing up beside me and to the young boy. "Are you all right?" he asks kneeling down and taking the boys face in his hands. The black haired boy, Brandon, finally takes his eyes away from me and looks at the man. He nods slowly and is quickly tugged into a tight embrace. That man must be the boys father.

I'm so distracted by the affectionate sight that I don't detect the figure coming up beside me.

"Are you alright?" the person beside me is a young man, no more than a year older than I. His hair is black and wavy much like the little boys and I can't help but think that they must be brothers. His clothes are dark and fur-covered and the head of a wolf is also lightly visible on the fabric of his cloak. His cool grey eyes stare at me intently just visible through the fog of my breath.

"Woah!" the young man shouts and it's then I realize I am falling. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his chest, steadying me. I attempt to push him away but I find myself tumbling towards the ground again. He grabs hold of me again but this time helps me to the ground so that I can lay down. The cold bight of the snow isn't very welcoming but the release of pressure on my legs is. He brings his knee up underneath my head and supports my back so I am not sinking into the snow.

"Is she alright?" the gruff voice of the fair-haired man calls. My vision has begun to blur but I can just make out the young dark haired man shake his head in the direction of the voice. He looks back down at me with concern etched into the white marble of his young face.

"Get some blankets!" the figure above me bellows over his shoulder and the shuffling of feet follow his command. I can feel my body trembling below me. The cold must have come on so fast again that my body instantly went numb. My eyelids flutter shut of their own accord. I feel a heavy weight come down on my chest and a warm sensation starts spreading through my torso.

"Is she okay?" It is the high-pitched sound of a young boy.

"She looks weak," a hand rests on my forehead. "Must have been out here a long while. We should take her back to Winterfell."

"Is that wise sir?" a voice I don't recognize asks.

"She just saved my brothers life!" I feel the knee below my head jolt and know with was the young man that spoke.

"Did you happen to catch what her name is Brandon?"

"No," the little boy sighs. "She just appeared from nowhere. She didn't even get a chance to say anything."

"Eliza.."

I sense six pairs of eyes gaze down on me.

"What did you just say?"

"Eliza…" I mumble. "My name is Eliza…"


	2. Four Years Later

Four Years Later

A strong wind blows the loose strands of my hair into my eyes. I attempt to tuck them back into my braid but the north winds just blow them right back. I allow the wind to set them free and fling my head back to enjoy the rushing winds. The cold air sends a shiver down the back of my spine even under my fur clock and my breath puffs out like a cloud above me. It's the warmest it's been in days but I still feel the cold bight of winter on my skin even after these past four years.

"Come on Brandon," Robb's voice echoes to my left. My head plops back into place to view the Stark boys once again. All of them have removed their cloaks and jackets; this weather feels like summer to them. Brandon holds a bow in his tiny ten year old hands and aims for the target twenty paces before us. Robb and Jon stand to his left and Rickon sits atop the gate a little ways behind them.

Brandon grumbles under his breath as his arrow misses the target again. He's been at it for hours now and still hasn't come close to a bull's eye. I can see the agitation on his face as he knocks his next arrow and draws the string up to his cheek. The arrow misses once more and Brandon drops his arms at his sides and stomps his foot in defeat and aggravation.

John kneels down beside him and places his hands on Brandons shoulders. "Go on," he says, "Fathers watching." Brandon spins around and looks up towards the balcony. Jon and I do the same. Standing up above us is Lord Stark and his wife Lady Catelyn. Ned nods softly to his son as a sign of encouragement.

"And your mother," Jon adds quickly upon seeing Catelyn. The woman smiles brightly at her second youngest son. Brandon gives a weak smile to his parents before turning back towards the target.

He knocks the bow and pulls the string back once again to his cheek, but I can see the tension in his arms and stance. Now that he knows his parents are watching he is even more nervous.

He lets the arrow fly and it sails over the target, over the wall, and into the brush of trees beyond the grounds. Brandon lets his head fall in shame and stabs the end of his bow into the dirt. Robb and Jon chuckle loudly and I see Brandon's free hand curl into a fist. I glare at the two boys sternly. When Robb sees me he gives me his 'oh come on' smile and keeps on laughing.

It isn't until Lord Starks voice pierces the cold air that they stop.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" he bellows down to his sons. "Keep practicing Bran," he says encouragingly to his ten year old with a smile.

Bran nips at his lip nervously and twist the bow around in his hand.

"Go on," his father encourages him again.

Still seeing the hesitation in his stance I take a few steps towards the young boy and place my hand on his shoulder. I lean down just enough so we're face to face. "Don't think too much Bran," I tilt my head slightly and smile. When I see a spark of hope in his eye and a smile on his lips I lean back up. I step back so as to give him room, and he raises his bow.

"Relax your bow arm," Robb advises and I watch the tension melt off Bran's forearm. His fingers flinch, just about ready to release his grasp on the nock.

_Zoom!_

Something flies past between Bran and I. My head turns as a resonating _thump_ sounds in the direction of the target. An arrow is sticking straight out of the center of the bull's eye. A perfect hit. And it wasn't Bran.

The group of us spin round to find Arya standing beneath the balcony with a bow in her hands. She smiles wickedly at us. The arrow was hers. The boys all gape at her dumbfounded and I can't help but smile. Seeing her brother's expressions the girl does a tiny bow.

Robb and Jon start laughing as Bran drops his bow and bolts in the direction of his sister. I can't help but join the boys in laughter as Arya runs off with Bran right behind her. Bran chases her through the barn, both of them laughing. Arya twists and turns her way through the doors and Bran jumps and leaps over barrels and hay to catch up with her.

"That was a good shot," Robb say making his way towards the target.

"She's better than you were," Jon jokes following closely behind, picking up stray arrows that didn't make it to the target.

Robb plucks Arya's arrow from the board and twirls it in his fingers. "I still learned faster than you did," he retorts before leaning down and picking up some more arrows. Rickon scampers over handing his older brother the few arrows he's collected.

"I bet I could have outshot the both of you," I smirk before making my way towards Jon.

"Scarily enough," Jon says, poking me with the fletching of the arrow. "I don't doubt that." I can't hold back my smile as I snatch the arrow from his grasp.

"She could best us in practically anything," Robb bellows over to us. "I'll never be able to forget the first time you bested me in swordplay."

"You were so sure you could take me down," I chuckle, taking the arrows he hads me.

"Give me a break. It had only been a few weeks since you'd come here that I challenged you and I still thought you were a girl," Robb winks at me cheekily. I shove him away and he belts out a laugh before heading over towards Rickon. The two pick up a pair of twigs and Robb attempts to replicate our first challenge upon Rickon's insistence.

I turn and come up beside Jon where he is placing the arrows back in their holder.

"'Thought' I was a girl," I chuckle. "I most certainly am a girl."

"I'm sure when you two get married it'll be harder for him to say you aren't."

My hand stills above the holder, an arrow wresting in my fingers.

"Robb and I don't want that Jon," I mumble, dropping the arrow into the bin. "You know that. Practically everyone knows that." I peak over at him from the corner of my eye and I see that blank look on his face he gets when he's uncomfortable. I hate seeing him with that look.

"Jon…" I try to say something but his eye goes upward and then I see the last remaining light in his eye slip away. I look up to see Lady Catelyn glaring down at us. At Jon. I wish she could be more kind to him. I really do wish it. Jon has never done anything wrong.

I tug Jon by his arm and pull his attention away from Catelyn and back onto me. "Come on," I say cheerfully. "I want to see if I can best you at swordplay. Your strokes have gotten a lot stronger the last few months." I start pulling him over towards the blacksmiths so I can retrieve my blade – it had started to split near the hilt and it needed some repairs.

"Wait you two," Ser Rodrik calls out to Jon and I. We halt and spin around just as Arya and Bran bolt past.

"Bran!" Rodrik calls out quickly before the boy rushes off after his sister. Bran comes to a crashing halt when his feet land on top of a barrel.

"A deserter was caught a few leagues east of here."

I sigh. A beheading. I never enjoy these, but it has to be done.

"Bran, you're coming too."

My head instinctively darts over to the boy and I see his tiny body stiffen. Ten years old is too young for such things.

"We shall meet in the stables in half an hour," Rodrik says before turning to leave. Before he can get to far away I unlatch my arm from Jon's and jog after him.

"Ser Rodrik!" I call out causing him to stop.

"Yes Eliza?" he asks when I come up beside him.

"Bran…" I trail off, but Rodrik understands what I mean.

He nods ever so slightly and says, "It was Lord Eddard's command."

I sigh and shake my head ever so slightly. "Ten is too young to see such things," I whisper before turning around to fetch my horse.

It's been a long time since I've had to stand in front of this bloody stump. I did not miss it. I miss it even less as the guards walk a man up to it. His legs are shaking ever so slightly and his hair falls down in his face concealing the Stark boys and I from view. Though his sigil has been thrown away along with his cape the black of his jacket, pants, boots, and everything else he's wearing label him clearly for what he is: a man of the Nights Watch. Correction, a _deserter_ of the Nights Watch.

Robb stands at my side. Lightly bumping his shoulder against mine as a slight comfort. He knows how much I hate to watch beheadings, even if I have never told him why.

Brandon stands a few feet before me, Jon close to his side as well.

Lord Stark stands beside the stump, his men surround the area and Rodrik and Theon stand by his side. In his hands Theon holds Ned's sward, Ice. The large broadsword is wrapped in dark furs and I can see Theon staggering ever so slightly under the weight of the heavy blade.

As the guards bring the man forward I hear him mumbling under his breath, but I'm too far to make out what he says and his hair prevents me from distinguishing his words from his lips. He comes to a stuttering halt however when his feet tap against the stump. No doubt the smell of heads long gone choke his words.

He brings his head up and I can see his face. Buck toothed, wide green eyes, pale, scared.

"I know what I've done," he says quietly looking straight into Ned's eyes. "I know I'm a deserter." He trembles a little and glances down at his feet before rising his head up again. "I saw the white walkers." There is no trimmer in his voice as he says this, just a flat statement. Though I can't see Ned's face I see his shoulders go rigid.

I was not born a northerner, but I have heard the horrors of the White Walkers. The ice beast that roamed the North thousands of years ago. The creatures that resulted in the construction of the Wall and the nightmares of young children. According to legend they were defeated long ago and have never been seen again. If what this man says is true, even I tremble at the thought.

"People need to know," the man continues. "Get word to my family. Tell them I'm a coward. Tell them I'm sorry." I sigh and nip at my bottom lip. He may be a deserter but he ran, not out of fear, but in hopes that he could save his family and those that he loves. Even as he stands on the brink of death he has courage. He truly was a man of the Nights Watch; an honorable man. And now he will die for it.

Lord Stark nods his head and the guards take the man by the shoulders, forcing him to kneel. They place his head in the nook of the log where the tree has warped into a crimson red. Theon steps closer and holds out the hilt of Ice to Ned. The blade slides out from its furred wrappings and glints ever so slightly in the clouded daylight. It shines – freshly cleaned – ready for its duty. I see the defeat in the mans eyes as Ned brings the tip of the blade into the ground, his head bent over whispering words of prayer.

"Don't look away," Jon whispers to Bran. "Father will know if you do."

Ned raises his head, done with his speech, and swings Ice up into the air.

The cut is clean. The mans head thuds to the ground and blood oozes from his neck onto the edge of the stump. But my attention isn't on that, it's on Bran. He didn't look away. I watched him twitch when the cut was made, could sense the urge he had to turn his head, but he didn't.

I move away from Robb and come up behind Bran and beside Jon. I lightly place my hand on his little shaking shoulder. "You did well," I whisper to him comfortingly.

Bran is frozen stiff and I can tell how desperately he wishes to look away from the sight, but he can't make himself. It isn't until Robb comes up and rubs his hand on Bran's shoulder that the boy finally turns his head. Robb nods his head to me and I let my hand fall off Bran's shoulder. The brothers walk slowly making their way towards the horses.

"How did he do?" Ned asks, coming up beside me.

"Well," I say, but there is a coldness in my tone that Lord Stark detects.

He moves his gaze away from his sons and onto me. "Is there something wrong?"

"I can see your reasoning for having him watch," I reply, still looking at the ten year old. Robb has left him to tend to his own horse and Bran's hands run gently over the main of his white steed. "He is still young though my Lord. To show him such things without explaining their purpose is difficult for a child that age to understand. To see death without reason can scar young children."

Ned's hand lands on my leathered shoulder directing my attention onto him. "You are right," he says with a sad smile. "To a child all death, even death with a purpose, is wrong. I shall go speak with him." Ned pats his hand on my shoulder twice before dropping it down to his side and heading towards his son. I look on and am grateful to see a father looking after his child.

"How you manage to reprimand even the Lord of Winterfell is astonishing."

I spot the curly red hair of Theon Greyjoy out of the corner of my eye and can't help but smirk a little.

"It's so easy for you to get others to do what you say," he chuckles.

"You're one to talk," I cry, spinning round heading for my own horse, Theon following beside me. "No matter what I've said not once have you headed my advice."

"That's because your beauty distracts me," Theon smirks.

"Careful Theon," Robb remarks as we come up to the horses. "Remember what happened the last time."

"She nearly sliced your favorite body part off didn't she?" Jon tilts his head in the direction of Theons groin while tightening his saddle.

"Why don't you close your mouth bastard!" Theon hisses through his teeth.

"If both of you don't stop it I'll slice off _both_ your cocks with my dullest blade," I smirk as I pull myself astride my horse. Jon looks at me with a small smile knowing I would never do such a thing to him, however Theon's eyes bulge out of his head and he quickly scampers off to his own steed.

Robbs horse trots up beside me. "It's amazing Theon even still attempts to grasp your attention with all your threatening. What was it you said you'd do last week?" Robb thinks for a moment, his eyes searching the sky as if to find the answer in the clouds. "You said you'd boil his skin and make a pair of leather pants if he wanted to touch your legs so badly as to slip his hand under the dining table."

"Not if I chopped off his hands first," Jon quirks, trotting up beside me. "Slowly, with a dull blade." He smirks and winks at me and I feel my cheeks burn a little.

"Come on," I say, tightening my grip on my reigns. "We're going to fall behind." I race off quickly so that neither the boys can see the redness in my cheeks. I can never prevent the ruby shine when Jon defends me like that.

It isn't long before the boys horses stride up next to mine. I give them a wicked grin as I beat my reigns once more and my horse takes off faster. I catch up with the others and bring my horse to a slow trot beside Jory.

"Racing the boys again My Lady?" the head guardsman asks with a smile.

"Of course!" I reply, panting heavily. "And as usual I have won."

"You are a very skilled rider My Lady," Jory says. "It'll be an honor to serve you when you become Lady of Winterfell."

My smile drops and all the spirit drains out of me. Every time it is mentioned I shall become the next Lady of Winterfell, Robb's wife… my stomach has the uncontrollable need to empty. Even Robb thinks the idea ridiculous. Neither of us wish to marry, but Lord Stark has already demanded it of us. Neither of us can build op the courage to tell him that it isn't what we wish. I hear the trotting of hooves as the boys come up behind me. Their laughter ringing in my ears but I can't make myself turn to face them. Robb and I are so close, too close to think of each other as anything other than a dear brother or sister. We wish for the others happiness, but do not wish to _be_ the others happiness.

Robb has known that my affections lye with another. He knows that these affections are pointless because the other party does not even wish to have the affections of another. Because the other party is determined to become a member of the Nights Watch.

"My Lady!" Jory cries grasping hold of my reigns before my horse charges into the halted one before me. My steed reals back and then settles once more.

"Thank you Jory," I say through heavy breaths. He responds only with a nod.

I stick my head out at glance through the armored helms between me and Lord Stark. I see Ned slide from his horse and do the same. I hear the thump of feet as Robb, Jon, and Theon do the same behind me. I make my way through the guards and out into the front of the horde where I'm shocked into stillness.

Ned kneels on the ground beside the corpse of a dead stag. Its stomach has been torn open – from what appears to be claws and possibly some teeth marks – its organs laying outside it in the dirt. Flies and maggots crawl and spill out from vesicles in the corpse. An antler is missing from one side of the stags decomposing head.

"What is it?" Jon says coming up behind me and taking my attention away from the poor creature.

"Mountain lion?" Theon suggests.

Ned's head shakes as he rises up to his feet. "No mountain lions are in these woods."

I step closer and a twig snaps under my boot. I look down and see a distinct indent in the ground beneath a pile of leaves. I kick the brown foliage away and am astounded to see a paw print, but not just any paw print. It's large. Very large. I look beyond and see a few more leading a ways to the edge of the bridge and down towards the creek. I follow them till one of the prints is deformed and smeared, as though the creature had slipped. I am proved right when I look down along the creeks edge.

"My Lord," I call out, my voice a little shaky. I hear the shuffle of feet behind me and then Lord Stark stands next to me staring down at the creature.

I go to step down and Ned's hand clamps on my shoulder. He shakes his head at me and pulls his sword from its sheath before stepping before me and taking the lead. I follow close behind and am very close to the creature when I feel a hand grab hold of my arm and pull be back. Robbs glove tightens around my forearm as I try and tug free and follow after his father but he just grips tighter.

Jon brushes past me and comes up beside Ned who is knelt down beside the large – and when I say large I mean the size of a horse – wolf. Blood is matted to its fur and I see a tiny bit of movement on the far side of the creature. Now that Ned has re-sheathed his sword Robb allows me to step closer and see more clearly.

The movement is not from the creature itself, but from five pups that circle and nudge at its corpse. Like the stag, flies and maggots crawl throughout its fur and protruding right from its chest is a stags antler.

We all gaze on the beast dumbfounded.

Slowly we all draw closer to the dead animal. Bran nudges past me and stands beside Jon. One of the pups whimpers against Bran's leg.

"It's a freak!" Theon declares.

"It's a direwolf," Ned says hesitantly, not fully wanting to believe it himself. He looks up to Rodrik who stands at the top of the hill. I can tell what he's thinking. If this is a direwolf, then perhaps what that man said, about the walkers…

Neds gaze falls to me and his eyes have a speck of fear in them. The last time I saw that look was the day I met him. The day Bran nearly died. He tears his gaze from mine and yanks the antler from the direwolfs chest.

"There are now direwolves south of the wall." Robb says what has already crossed my mind and the tension in Neds face thickens.

"Now there are five," Jon cuts in quickly hoping to end the morbid atmosphere. He picks up the one that is nudging against Bran's ankle and holds it out to him. "Do you want to hold it?" Jon plops the tiny pup into Bran's arms before Bran has a chance to say anything.

"Where will they go?" Bran asks with all the innocence of a young child. "Their mothers dead."

"They don't belong down here," Rodrik says.

"Better a quick death," Ned agrees. "They wont last the winter."

All too excited Theon tugs out his dagger and pushes past me towards Bran. "Right," he agrees wrapping his hand around the neck of the pup Bran's holding. "Give it here."

"No!" Bran cries as Theon tugs the tiny bundle from his arms.

"Put away your blade," Robb says sternly.

"I take orders from your father, not you," Theon replys and I can't help but think this is his way of getting back at Robb for our earlier remarks.

"Please father," Bran begs.

"I'm sorry Bran," Ned replies making his way towards me to get up the hill.

He brushes past me. Bran looks at the ground, not able to watch as Theon brings his dagger closer to the pups neck. I look down at the tiny squirming bundles roaming around the carcass of their dead mother and then back at Bran. He's already seen one death today, I'll be damned if he has to witness five more.

"Lord Stark," I speak authoritively, spinning round to face him. "You have five pups. One for each of the Stark children." I take a step towards him. "The direwolf is a sigil of your house. You were meant to have them." I can see the contemplation on his face and I know that I've made a point. Though to everyone else it looks as though Ned is looking at me, I can tell he's looking over my shoulder to his son. When his gaze once again shifts back to me I nod my head ever so slightly so that only he can notice. This is for Bran. Do it for Bran.

"You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves," he turns and heads back upward and towards the horses without a second look. I smile brightly at his back.

I spin round and stagger my way down beside Jon where the pups are. I pick up two and pass them to Robb. I can't help but giggle.

"What?" he retorts, securing the pup in his left arm.

"You look so precious," I tease.

Robb smirks and pokes me with his elbow, before turning round and handing one of them to Theon.

"What about you?" Bran asks as I pick up the last pup.

"I'm not a Stark."

I can't help but feel a twinge in my heart at his words. Theon's earlier statement rings through my head: _Bastard_.

"Get on," Jon says, and although he's trying to hide the pain I can see it clearly in his eyes.

Bran moves past me and I ruffle up his hair a little as he goes. When Jon comes up beside me I do my best to give him a cheerful smile but I know it doesn't fully reach my eyes. His face mirrors mine and he ruffles up the fur of the pup I'm holding.

"You'd look cute with a pup too Jon," I smirk wickedly in an attempt to make him laugh. I regret it the instant his sad little smile drops.

"Go on," he says, indicating for me to go first. I reluctantly turn and make my way up the path, Jon follows close behind. Suddenly I hear his feet stop and when I look round to find out what's wrong he's leaning into a thicket closer to the creek.

"What is it?" Robb says from up above me.

When Jon stands back up a snow white pup, smaller than the one I'm holding is wrapped in his arms.

"The runt of the little," Theon retorts. "That one's your Snow." I glance round and give Theon a death glare causing him to scamper off with his two pups. Robb chuckles a little before following after him.

I look round and Jon is scratching under the chin of the tiny little pup. It yawns, showing off its sharp teeth and bright pink tongue and when it's eyes wink open they're a piercing red. Jon cradles it in his arm and I can't help but giggle.

"What?" Jon grumbles.

"I was right," I giggle again. "You do look cute."

I see a smile brush his lips and am satisfied enough to make my way back up the hill.

"Sansa, how is your needlework coming?" I ask from the doorway surprising the young girl.

"You're back," the red-haired girl says uninterested as she continues her stitch.

I push myself off the doorframe and make my way into the room, a small bundle of cloth squirming at my side. "You seem rather agitated," I remark.

"Arya threw her needle into my cloth and tore apart some of the stitching," the girl grumbled tugging and the cloth in her lap. "Whenever she gets bored she just has to ruin everything."

I smile wickedly. "Well perhaps," I say sitting beside Sansa, placing the bundle in my lap, "she may find herself rather entertained with a new friend." Sansa rolls her eyes as if to say 'who would want to be friends with her?'.

"You may also find yourself preoccupied," I add.

"What are you talking about?" the girl asks letting her needlework fall into her lap and her attention focus souly on me. When she sees the expression on my face her lips quirk up. "You have that look on your face," she remarks.

"What look?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

"That look you get when you know something."

"Well perhaps," I say taking her stitching from her lap and replacing it with the bundle. "You have a new friend as well."

Sansa looks down questioningly into her lap and when the wrappings suddenly squirm she shrieks. "What is it!?" she cries, but I need not answer. At that moment a little black nose pokes out from a piece of fabric and a little pink tongue sticks out. Sansa quickly tugs the fabric free and the tiny direwolf pup licks at the tips of her fingers.

"Gods…" she stammers.

"She's all yours," I say brushing my fingers through the pups soft silver fur. "Arya and your brothers also have one. As does Jon," I add.

"She's lovely," Sansa says still star struck as she pets the pup. The little creature yelps at her touch and flips over for Sansa to rub her stomach. The ginger girl giggles happily.

"What are you going to call her?" I ask.

The girl thinks as she runs her fingers through the pups fur and across a tiny diamond shaped patch of dark hair at the base of her neck. "Perhaps… Lady would do well."

"Lady?" I test the name out. "Sounds lovely. She'll be just like her master." I tap my finger on Sansa's nose and the girl shakes it off.

We play with the dog for a short while. Sansa's earlier aggression gone.

"Have you heard yet?" Sansa asks me.

"Heard what?" I question.

"A raven arrived."

"Raven's arrive every day," I retort tugging my leather vest tighter for the straps had loosed due to the pups playful paws. "What was so special about today?"

"A friend of dad's died in Kings Landing," the young girl said.

I feel a slight twinge in my gut. After having to hear rumors of the White Walkers I'm sure more bad news will not sit well with Lord Stark.

"That is a shame," I sigh.

"There was some exciting news though," Sansa chirps.

"What was it?"

"The King is riding for Winterfell."


	3. A King in Winterfell

A King in Winterfell

The entire hall is rushing about preparing for the King's arrival. I've kept myself close to Lady Stark knowing how stressed and fearful she is of the royal families pending visit. She hasn't been able to keep still this last month, not since she found out King Robert, Ned's dearest and oldest friend, the man that took him away from her all those years ago, is coming to her home. I can sense the dread steaming off of her. She's frightened that Robert is going to take Ned away again.

I scurry behind her and Maester Luwin as we make our way through the dining hall. Servants all around us are preparing the chandeliers with new candles and rolling barrels of ale and wine through and into the kitchens. The royal party should be arriving any hour now and everyone is abuzz getting the last remaining details finished.

"We need plenty of candles for Lord Tyrion's chamber," Catelyn says over her shoulder in the Maester's direction. The old man nods and checks down on his list to be sure that he has it written since the last time she's mentioned it. "I'm told her reads all night," she adds.

"I'm told he drinks all night," Luwin ripostes.

"How much could he possible drink," Lady Catelyn cries moving out of the way of a barrel. "A man of his…" she trails off trying to think of the right word. "Stature," she concludes.

"We brought up eight barrels of ale from the cellar," Luwin says. "Perhaps we'll find out," he looks back at me with a wicked smile and I return it with one of my own.

"In any case, candles," Catelyn declares.

"I shall see to it My Lady," Maester Luwin says with a bow before trotting off in the direction of the kitchen.

I come up beside My Lady as we make our way out into the courtyard. She plays with her hands as she walks, twisting and twirling her fingers near the base of her stomach. I take one in my hand. "Everything will be alright Lady Stark," I say comfortingly.

"Oh Eliza," Catelyn says exasperated, taking my hands within hers. "You have been such a help to me this last month."

"I am honored to be of service to you My Lady," I say with a smile. "You have done so much for me these last four years, assisting you is the least I can do."

"You have become so much a daughter to me," Catelyn says cheerfully pulling us to a halt. She brushes a stray strand of hair from my face and behind me ear. "I shall be so happy to see you become an official part of our family."

I nip at my lip to hide the frown sprouting on my face.

Catelyn places her fingers under my chin and tips it upward. "You should be preparing," she says chidingly. "The King will be arriving soon and I shan't have you wearing leather trousers when he arrives. For once I will have you wearing proper attire for a lady." She chuckles happily placing her arm around my waist and leading us through the courtyard and towards the castle.

We've only gone a short distance when we spot one of the direwolves seated in the middle of the path beside the west wing stables.

"God's do they grow fast!" Catelyn declares. The pup comes up to my knee and it is merely two months old. Bran had named his pup Summer and the direwolf loved Bran just as much as a mother loves her child. Everywhere Bran goes the pup follows.

So I wasn't surprised when I saw Bran climbing his way down the brick walls of the tower.

"Brandon!" Catelyn cries out upon seeing her son.

"I saw the King!" Bran chirps as he makes his way down the wall. His excitement is barely contained as he swings from one slab of stone to the next. I can't help but notice the worry on Catelyn's face. She's never liked him climbing since he never knows when to stop going higher. Once we found him swinging upside down from the bell tower in the center of the square. It nearly frightened Lady Stark to death.

"He's got hundreds of people," Bran explains as plops down on the roof of the stable.

"How many times have I told you?" Catelyn cries. "No climbing!"

"But he's coming right now. Down _our_ road!" Brandon's teeth shine brightly within his smile. The boy flips over the edge of the roof and jumps down onto the dirt ground. I cross my arms over my chest and giggle quietly so that Lady Stark doesn't hear.

When his feet hit dirt, Catelyn marches over to her son and leans down so she's looking him eye to eye. "I want you to promise me," Bran looks at her blankly. "No. More. Climbing." Her voice is stern and I can see the hesitation to argue as Bran twists the toes of his boots into the dust.

He glances down to the ground then back up to his mother. "I promise."

"Do you know what?" Lady Catelyn asks as she pulls herself back up straight.

"What?" her son questions, looking rather scared to know the answer.

"You always look at your feet before you lie."

A girn sprouts up on Bran's face at his mothers words.

"Run and find your father," Catelyn instructs. "Tell him the King is close." Bran nods and scampers off, Summer close behind him.

Catelyn looks on me and shakes her head. "You know you're the reason he became so interested in climbing," she says coming up beside me and we continue our path towards the castle. "The day you climbed that oak tree he always wanted to climb higher than you."

"I believe climbing above can be a good thing both literally and metaphorically," I chirp with a smile.

Catelyn locks her arm with mine and smiles. "Even so, I shudder to think that he might fall."

"I understand My Lady."

"Come now," Catelyn smiles tugging me closer and I have a strong feeling it's so I won't escape her grasp. "Time to put you in some proper clothing."

Yep. Can't escape her grasp.

The layers of fabric are strange and difficult for me to be accustomed to. The last time I wore proper attire for my rank and gender I must have been a toddler. For these last four years Lady Stark and even Sansa have tried to manipulate me into placing on a dress but each time I've refused. With the King coming however, it's much harder to argue. I am not a Lady of Winterfell. I cannot disrespect the King and in turn disrespect My Lord and My Lady.

Even so, getting up the courage to walk out into the courtyard where the Stark boys are mulling around is almost impossible.

"You look lovely Eliza," Catelyn says cheerfully encouraging me to come out.

I'm just about to step out into the gloomy Northern air when I hear a voice cry out: "Is that the _Lady_ Eliza come to grace us with her presence?"

Damn you Theon Greyjoy.

"Shut your mouth!" I hear Robb slap at some part of Theons leather. "Come on out Eliza."

"If any of you laugh I'll run you through!" I cry.

"We promise," Robb and Jon both reply at the same time.

I very slowly step out from behind the door and into the courtyard.

My hair falls down in waves to the small of my back, only a few pieces are pulled back to expose the front of my face. My gown is a matted stitching of crimson and deep maroon and the fabric hugs tightly against my body. A cord of red rope is tied around my waist to hold the fabric in place. Long flowing sleeves billow in the wind and send a shiver up my arms. To the behest of Lady Stark I have in a fair of iron dangling earrings and an iron band wrapped around my head.

Robb, Jon, and even Theon gape at me.

"What?" I cry out pulling my cloak – the only comfortable and familiar part of my attire – around me.

They continue to stare at me. Theon's mouth hangs open slightly.

I feel a blush start creeping its way up to my cheeks. I tuck my head down so that my hair falls to cover my burning cheeks that do doubt match my dress.

"You look lovely." My head jolts up at the sound of Lord Starks voice. He has made his way between the young boys and myself and hold his arms out in appraisal of me. "Everything a Lady of the North should be. Cunning, brave, and beautiful," Ned smiles at me as he steps forward and wraps his arms around my shoulders. Over his fur covered shoulder I can see the flushed faces of the Stark boys and they shuffle their feet in an attempt to pull themselves together.

Ned steps back letting me out of his arms. "Come on," he says turning to his wife and holding out his hand. "They will be arriving soon." Ned holds out his other hand to me and I take happily.

We walk towards the boys where Ned stops and looks to his eldest son. He holds out my hand to him and nods for Robb to take it when the boys eyes bounce from his father's face to my ungloved hand. He takes it ever so delicately but when Ned's back is to us I slip my hand out of his.

"Come on," I say with a smile. Robb nods and follows his parents ahead of me.

"You do look lovely Eliza," Jon says coming up beside me.

"Thank you." I know that my cheeks are blushing but I can't help myself.

"Come along now," Ned shouts and Jon and I pick up our pace.

The courtyard is filled with all members of the royal household. Staff stand far at the back while higher members of the household line up in front of them; including Maester Luwin, Rodrick, Jory, and Theon. The places in front are for the members of the Stark family. Lord and Lady Stark stand proudly before their citizens with their children at their side.

Jon and I make our way closer and Robb steps aside to allow us behind him. Jon is only a bastard and therefore falls in the second row behind the trueborn first son – Robb. I am a ward, like Theon and therefore stand in the back row beside him and Jon. After Jon passes through and takes his place I step behind the family line only to hear my name called out behind me.

"No Eliza," Lord Stark takes my hand and pulls me into the front line beside Robb. "This is your place."

My lips part in shock and the color drains from my face. As Ned retakes his place Robb and I look at each other awkwardly. Not able to look at him any longer I relocate my eyes to the ground and nip at my bottom lip. I peak over my shoulder at Jon who gives me a reassuring smile. He mouths: It is where you belong.

I sigh heavily and Robb jabs his elbow into my ribs. "It's amazing how much you hate the idea of being my lady," he chuckles. "What could I have done to deserve such a disgusted fiancé?"

I slap his arm away, but a smile creeps its way onto my lips. "I'd hate to be anyone's Lady," I murmur. "Whether it be yours or anyone else's."

"You as a Lady would be a sight!" Theon decrees from behind me.

I spin round to face the mousy brat and grit my teeth. "Just because I'm wearing a dress does not mean I'm unarmed," I hiss, raising the hem of my skirt to reveal a dagger hidden in my boot. Another is tied to my calf, but I'd never give Theon the pleasure of seeing all of that skin. The runt stumbles back and into a servant before righting his footing again. I smile, satisfied, as I turn back around.

"Where's Arya?" Catelyn asks gazing around and it's the first time I noticed the young girl isn't standing beside Sansa and Bran in her place.

Not a few moments later the little girl comes springing into the courtyard, a guardsman's helmet on her head. She dashes over towards her spot only to me stopped by her father. He pulls her close to him and says, "What are you doing with that on?" Lord Stark removes the helm to reveal a very disappointed expression on Arya's face. I smile unknowingly. She wants ever so much to be a fighter like her brothers, not a lady. I see so much of myself in her.

She passes by me to take her place and when she meets my eye she gives a harrumph and stomps the rest of the way to her spot.

When I first arrived here Arya had been rather fond of me. I was the first woman she had met that wasn't a 'proper' lady. I could fight, I didn't wear gowns or allow men to tell me in what ways I could live my life. She saw me as her heroine for a few months. Until her mother and father told her that she could never be like me. She was a lady, and their daughter. Since that time she has looked on me only with contentment. For I am the living evidence of what she can never become. I have the freedom to decide my fate. And she will never forgive me for that.

Here we all stand. The Stark family, and myself. As the sound of hooves draw nearer I can't deny my need to reach at my belt for the hilt of my sword to give me courage. Today I meet the Kind of the Seven Kingdoms.

The first to emerge is a guard, then a young boy – perhaps Sansa's age – with blond hair and red attire, a crimson and black furred cloak covers his shoulders. This must be the crown prince Joffrey Baratheon. I have heard very little about him, other than a few negative remarks Robb has paced on to me. As he rides in his eyes immediately fall onto Sansa, and her lips curl up into a smile when she notices. Unlike her cheerful response to the prince's attentions, Robb doesn't seem so pleased. I lean my arm over so that it wrests against his forearm so as to comfort him.

My attentions are tugged away from Robb however by the figure that follows the young prince into the courtyard. His body _clinks_ at his horses movements for every inch of him is coated in a dark metal, even his face, which is concealed by a large mask in the shape of a hound. I am so awestruck by the sight that I don't even pay attention to the carriage, let alone the other horses trotting their way into the courtyard. As the mans horse comes to a stop he reaches up and opens the mouth of the hound-mask to reveal a rather unexpected sight.

The man must be nearly double my age, and twice my size, however these are not the characteristics of importance. The entire right side of the mans face is twisted… deformed… looking almost melted. It is something I have never seen before. It looks as though the flesh ahs been tightened and then pulled apart. It is a frightening sight, and yet I can't bring myself to look away from him. Not because of his scar, but his eyes. Sad, deep, blue eyes.

I feel a tug on my cloak as Robb pulls me down to the ground. I nearly stumble by quickly plop my knee down to support myself. My head, still raised, sees a horse making its way towards us and I quickly drop my head down realizing who it is.

Horse hooves trot up till they are only a few feet before Lord Stark and then I hear the thump of boots on the ground. A few taps and I can make out the tips of mud covered boots in the corner of my vision. A few seconds later Lord Stark rises up to his feet and the rest of us follow. It is then I get my first sight of the King, and I am…. Disappointed.

Lord Stark has told me tales of his good old friend Robert. The handsome man who took the Seven Kingdoms from the Targaryen's. A man so strong he could lift a war-hammer with just one hand and knock the heads off his opponents with one swing.

This… round bellied, unkempt man… is the King of Westeros?

I can tell that Lord Stark is dumbfounded by the alterations in his friend by the way he looks on him. He moves steadily and formally, unsure of what to say or do.

"Your Grace," Ned bows.

An awkward silence fills the air as the two men stare at one another. Until finally the King speaks.

"You got fat."

I see Lady Catelyn's eyes dip to the ground, Robb does the same, but I can't keep my eyes off of the pair.

Ned takes in the words of his King and then I see a shift in his expression. His left eyebrow arches upward and a looks Robert up in down as if to say: 'you're one to talk'.

At first I think the King will be offended, but I am proved wrong when the round man lets out a howling laugh and pulls Lord Stark into a tight embrace. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. As, I'm sure, does Lady Stark.

The King pulls back from his dear friend and looks to My Lady. He holds out his arms and drapes them around her. "CAT!" he cries, and a giggle nearly slips from my lips. I have never heard anyone call Lady Catelyn Cat.

"Your Grace," she says uncomfortably as Robert pulls away and ruffles up little Rickons hair whose been clutching onto his mother's gown since the royal parties arrival.

"Nice years," King Robert says exasperated to his old friend. "Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?" he demands.

"Guarding the North for you Your Grace," Ned responds with a cheerful smile. One you can only share with an old, dear friend. "Winterfell is yours."

Behind His Grace the carriage door opens to reveal someone that makes my blood boil: Cersei Lannister. Just the name Lannister makes my teeth grind.

"Where's the imp?" Arya's question pulls me out of my rage and I get a tighter grip on my demeanor.

"Will you shut up!" Sansa scolds and I take her hand in mine to calm her.

"What have we here?" Roberts voice comes closer to my ear and I look round to see him standing before Robb.

"You must be Robb," the King says before taking Robbs outstretched hand. I can see the stiffness in his jaw and his only response to the Kings words is a stiff nod. I smile lightly and take his hand with my free one.

"And who might you be young Lady?" It is only at the moment the King has addressed me that I realize I am more nervous than Robb could have been. All feeling drains from my body when I bring my attention onto the King. Although he looks on me with a comforting, bright, cheerful smile my stomach is tumbling about inside of me. My lips hang parted but no sound will emanate from them. It isn't until Robb and Sansa's fingers tighten around my hands that I regain my senses.

"I am Eliza, your Grace," I say with a low bow.

"You are not a Stark." It is a statement, not a question, but I respond anyway.

"No your Grace. I am a ward of Winterfell."

"Oh yes," the King cries with a bright smile. "I have heard whispers of you. The soon to be 'Lady Stark'." Even when coming from the mouth of a King, those words still make me uncomfortable.

The King takes my hand from Robbs surprisingly causing my body to go stiff and my instincts to jump into high alert. "My Lady," the King says before placing a kiss on my knuckles. The only response I can manage is a nod.

The King then moves on and appraises the rest of the Stark children. Complementing Sansa and asking Bron to show off his muscles. The man seems like a very friendly, lively fellow. Not a King.

"That's Jamie Lannister, the Queens twin brother," Arya announces as a man beside the royal carriage removes his helmet to reveal golden blonde hair trailing down beyond his ears. Another pang of agitation runs through me at the presence of another Lannister.

The queen makes her way forward and towards Lord Stark. I have always known that Ned was not fond of the Lannister's – one such trait he and I have shared – however, I didn't expect him to be so blatant about it. As the blonde woman holders her hand out for My Lord he barely touches her with his fingers and his lips, his eyes cold and stern. Even when he greets her his voice is flatter, less lively than when he spoke with Robert.

Lady Catelyn however is much better at holding her temper and bows lowly and cheerfully greets the woman: "My Queen."

"Take me to the crypts! I want to pay my respects," Roberts voice booms over My Lady's.

"We've been riding for a month my love, surely the dead can wait," the Queen responds before Lord Stark has a chance to speak.

King Robert hardly gives her a glance. "Ned," is all he says before walking away and towards the underground crypts that house the former lords and kings of Winterfell.

I had been told of the tragedy of the Lady Lyanna only once. But just once was enough to know that she was Roberts everything once upon a time, and when she died a part of him died with her. Even if she is a Lannister, no wife should have to live in the shadow of a dead woman. I can't help but pity the woman as her husband and Lord Stark march out of the courtyard.


	4. The Birds First Song

The Birds First Song

"Do you think Joffrey will like me?" Sansa questions as her mother twists her auburn hair into a Northern styled hair-knot.

It has been roughly an hour since Ned announced King Roberts proposal of marriage between the crown prince and Sansa. Upon hearing the news Sansa was delighted and begged her mother to allow her to change her clothes and hair for the feast tonight. Since Lady Catelyn and I began assisting the little lady she has not stopped talking and asking about the prince.

"What if he thinks I'm ugly?" the girl asks nervously.

I sit on the bed in front of her at take her hands in mine. "Then he is blind," I smile brightly.

"And the stupidest prince that ever lived," her mother adds.

The worry slowly melts from the girl as she brings her hand mirror up to her face. Her fingers twirl around a loose strand of hair that hangs over her shoulder. A tiny smile pecks t her lips as she says, "He's so handsome." I bite my lip upon seeing Catelyn roll her eyes at her daughters words, a chortle barely salvaged from escaping into the air.

"When will we be married?" Sansa asks, "Soon? Or do we have to wait?"

"Hush now," Lady Stark decrees and Sansa's shoulders slump in her chair.

"Sansa," I say, "Lord Stark hasn't even agreed to the match yet. It isn't appropriate to keep outwardly declaring your affections until the decision is made."

"Why would he say no?" the girl protests. "He'd be the second most powerful man in the Kingdoms."

"He'd have to leave home… He'd have to leave me…" Lady Stark's voice trails off uncomfortably and I am grateful that her daughter is too distracted to notice the weakness in her mother's eyes. Seeing Lady Catelyn so distraught feels like a sharp blow is being made to my stomach.

It was very clear what her view was on the situation. She did not want anyone to leave. Not Sansa, and certainly not her husband. When Ned announced Roberts proposal to the family – both the wedding and the position of Hand to the King – I saw Catelyn peer at Jon: the evidence of Ned's last journey down to Kings Landing. Something that even after all these years she hasn't been able to even look upon without feeling disgusted. Her biggest fear is that Ned shall return again from Kings Landing with another bastard in his arms.

When I can see My Lady's eyes drifting off into the distance in somewhat of a daze, I take the initiative to distract Sansa before noticing her mothers strange behavior. "Besides my lovely lady," as say as I tuck a stand of hair behind her ear. "I would miss you should you go to the capital."

"But you would come with us!" Sansa cries.

"No," I laugh, "I would not do well in the capital."

"You say that only because you refuse to put on the proper attire of your station."

"My station is that of a Ward to your family," I reply. "I am eternally grateful for the kindness your father has bestowed upon me, however I have no station. Which means," I smirk wickedly and rise up to my feet grasping hold of my skirts and pulling them above my knees. "I have the pleaser of not having to wear these wretched skirts all the time as you two so insist that I do."

"Eliza!" Catelyn cries out, her mouth agape. I flick my heals about in a tiny jig before thrusting my skirts back down to the floor. Sansa burst out into a fit of giggles and I see a small smile emerge on Catelyns face. I feel a sense of victory at the turn in mood the room has made.

"I can't wait to go to the capital," Sansa declares and the mood shifts back to what it was. Catelyn's face drops again and I see her wince.

"Are you so insistent upon leaving home?" she enquires of her daughter. "You'd have to leave home."

"You left your home to come here," Sansa retorts causing Catelyn's hands to still in her daughters hair.

"And I'd be queen someday," Sansa adds with a hint of mirth in her eyes. Catelyn meets my gaze, both of our brows lifted in a 'of course that's what the young girl focuses on' look.

"Please make father say yes!" Sansa cries spinning round in her seat so that she's facing her mother.

"Sansa," her mother protest but is cut off by Sansas insistent cries of 'please! please! please!'

"It's the only thing I've ever wanted," the girl implores. Lady Stark only looks down on her daughter and for the first time I see a shift in her domineer. How could hearing your child, who never once – as far as I can recall – asked for anything, plead so much and not have it affect your decision? My Lady looks to me for support and not ten seconds later do I hear the sound of a tune come flittering up through the open window.

"Come Sansa," I say taking her slim wrist in my hand and pulling her to her feet. "The feast has begun." She tugs at her hair and straightens her dress making every strand, every ribbon is in place. "You look stunning," I say brightly forcing her arms down to her sides. She looks on me with a nervous smile and chips at one of her nails. I place my hand under her chin, forcing her to raise her head. "Be who you are Sansa, and if he can't see how beautiful and bright you are then he does not deserve you." The girls teeth appear in a wide toothed smile and a bit of color goes into her cheeks.

I hold my arm out to her and she wraps hers around my elbow.

We make our way down into the great hall, Catelyn close behind us. The closer we get the louder the music and sounds of merry-making become. When we come to the entryway the room is packed with people drinking, eating, dancing, and enjoying the slender of each other's company. My eyes shift around the room in search of Robb and Jon who would most likely be seated near the head table on the other side of the hall.

"Eliza," Sansa whispers in my ear taking my attention away from my search. I look down at her and her cheeks are a ruby red, her hand around my arm tightens and her eyes are staring off into the hall. I search through the crowd in the direction she is staring not surprised to find Joffrey in her line of sight. The blonde boy is leering in our direction. Although his lips display a smile, the look in his eyes makes my stomach turn. Something seems wrong about him, I just can't understand what it is yet.

"Go on girls," Catelyn says placing her hands on the smalls of our backs, pushing us deeper into the room. She moves past us and takes her place at the head table beside the queen. It's only then that I realize she is the only one that was seated at the head table. Where are Ned and the King?

I peer through the crowd once more but do not find Lord Stark, however my eyes catch the glint of gold reflecting off of a crown. King Robert is seated near the center of the room with a mug of ale in one hand and a kitchen wench in the other. Strangely, I'm not surprised.

Sansa and I make our way through the crowd towards the first row of tables where her ladies maids are seated awaiting their lady. As we make our way through I feel an arm wrap around my waist and tug me away from my companion. Instinctively, my hand reaches down towards my boot but is quickly caught in a vise-like grip.

"Now is that any way to treat me?" Robbs voice is cheery and a tinge of wine is mixed in his breath.

"By all the Gods!" I cry spinning round and yanking my wrist from his grasp. His arm drops from my waist and he laughs merrily.

"My Lady," he bows low to me and I purse my lips at the word. "Would you do me the honor of a dance?" he asks rising back up.

I am about to refuse him when Sansa intervenes. "You know she'll never say yes so just grab hold of her and drag her out there," the girl says this as she pushes me into Robbs chest. I find myself dumbfounded at both the situation and Sansa's uncommon statement.

"Quite right," Robb says with a wink to his little sister before heeding her advice and taking by my hands within his own. He quickly pulls me into an open space where he draws me into him – only a few inches of space is between us – and begins prance me about in a Northern style dance.

At first my feet are uncoordinated and stumble about trying to keep up with Robbs pace, but I quickly pick up my pace and match his steps. We prance about in circles, once or twice Robb takes the initiative and spins me outward. All the while we smile and laugh and just enjoy the cheerful, upbeat melody.

As the song comes to an end Robb takes my hand in his and lightly presses a kiss to my knuckles.

"My Lady," he says with a wicked gleam in his eye.

I scoff and tug my hand from his grasp before storming off back towards the tables.

"You danced so well Eliza," Robb says coming up beside me.

"You've seen me dance plenty of times," I retort sitting down at a table.

"But not with skirts on. I half expected you to fall flat on your face."

"Robb!" I slap him on the chest as he sits down beside me.

He pulls two mugs out from the center of the table and hands one to me. "Are you going to sing tonight?" he asks before taking a swig.

"Perhaps," I shrug before taking a sip from my own mug. "If it is required of me I suppose I shall."

I glance about the hall peaking over heads and past tables trying to find a familiar swatch of curly black hair. When I come up with nothing I turn to Robb.

"Where's Jon?"

Robbs cheerful expression falters and he takes a gulp of ale, using the mug as a way to hide his face. When he brings it down again I reproach him with a stare.

"Mother thought it best he didn't attend," Robb says sheepishly.

I sigh and my shoulders droop. Of course she did.

"Do you know where he is?"

"In the stables," Robb responds. "Practicing his swordsmanship."

I nod my head and reach behind Robb for another mug of ale before rising to my feet, a mug in each hand.

"Tell him I'm sorry." Robbs head hands a little. Jon is his brother and I know how much he despises his mistreatment.

"No."

Robb looks up at me surprised.

I smile brightly.

"Because he already knows."

The air has a bite to it when I walk outside. Granted it is probably due to my lack of a cloak, but I did not want to waste time in fetching it.

Long before I near the stables I hear the sound of steel on wood. I turn the corner and Jon's back is facing me. He slams his sword again and again into the hay filled sack in front of him tied to a post. It is plainly obvious from his strokes that he is not practicing his strokes but just aggressively hitting the structure. It's understandable why.

"I think you've killed it." I startle Jon as I come up to the fence surrounding him.

"Eliza?" he says questioningly upon seeing me. His sward drops to his side and his hand indicates to the hall.

"I thought you could use some ale," I don't answer his obvious question of why I've left the party and hold out one of the mugs.

He takes it reluctantly and comes to lean on the side of the fence opposite me.

"You should be inside," he says before bringing the mug up to his lips.

"If I stay in there any longer someone will ask for me to sing," I fake a shudder which results in both of us chuckling.

"You have a lovely voice Eliza," Jon praises me. I nip at my lip.

We sit there for a few moments in totally silence, both of us unsure of what to say. Until I plop my mug down and hop over the fence. Jon looks on me bewildered as I take his sword from his grasp.

"Let us see who can kill the hay-filled beast better shall we?" I sway on my feet and challenge him with a wicked smile.

Jon chuckles. "You're on."

I turn to the pillar and raise the sword in my hand. I strike first at chest height and then at the empty area where the head should be; all within three seconds. Speed has always been one of my best qualities at swordsmanship. I attempt to side step and strike the side but find my foot stepping on the hem of my dress making me stumble. I would have fallen if Jon had not reached out and grabbed my arm to steady me.

"Curse this damned dress!" I cry out to the sky and raise my fists. Jon chuckles behind me. "Stop laughing! If I were in my usual attire then I would have been fine!"

"I'm sure you would have," Jon manages through his laughter. I purse my lips and reluctantly plop the hilt of the sword in his hand before scurrying back over to the fence. As I pull myself up and sit on the top plank Jon begins hacking away at the wood once more.

I'm so distracted by Jon's strokes, and his so clearly obvious negative aura, that I don't hear the horse come galloping up behind me.

"Is it dead yet?" a deep voice shouts out from behind me.

Jon and I both spin round to see a man dressed all in black with long dark hair sitting atop a horse. The man jumps down from his saddle and I hear the clang of metal as Jon drops his sword to the ground. He pushes the gate door to my left open and marches through to meet the black-clothed man. I look on confused until Jon puts a name to the new member of our party.

"Uncle Benjin!"

The two embrace warmly as I hop down off the fence and make my way over to them.

"You got bigger," Benjin says as he pulls out of his nephews arms. I don't think I've ever seen Jon smile as much as he is right now in the presence of his uncle.

It is then that the man catches sight of me over Jons shoulder. "And who might this be?" he asks indicating to me.

Jon spins round and holds his hand out to me. I step forward and take it.

"This is Eliza," Jon introduces me and I bow lowly. "Eliza this is my uncle Benjin."

"It is wonderful to meet you," I say. "I have heard much about you from Jon and Lord Stark."

"I regret to say I haven't heard much about you," Benjin takes my hand in his and nods slightly. "My brother and nephew are not too fond of writing letters. I only hear news when I come to Winterfell, which hasn't been for some time now. Which is why I rode all night," he smiles and looks to Jon. "Didn't want to leave you alone with the Lannister's."

I can't stop myself from snorting and I see a satisfied look from the man of the Nights Watch. It appears every member of the Stark family has a dislike for the Lannisters.

"Will I find you two at the feast?" he asks. My attention instantly falls on Jon who's face falls.

"Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their mists," he voice is etched with pain and I push my shoulder into him as some form of comfort. Benjin notices this and looks on me with the corners of his lips quirked up.

"Eliza is attending though," Jon adds quickly upon feeling my closer presence.

"I would be honored to accompany you My Lady." Jon chuckles when he feels my hands curl into fists between us. "As for you," Bejin says directing his attention back to Jon. "You are always welcome on the wall. No bastard was ever refused a seat there."

"So take me with you when you go back."

These words have a stronger effect on me that 'Lady' ever could. My shoulders slump and my eyes tear. I nip at my lip. Just the thought of Jon going up to the Wall… knowing that I may never see him again… Benjin sees the expression on my face and I quickly tilt my head down to the ground.

"Jon…"

"Father will let me go if you ask him!" Jon protests. "I know he will."

Silence hangs in the air like a noose and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. Benjin Stark's eyes bore into the top of my head like he's the one wrapping the noose around my throat.

"The Wall isn't going anywhere," he says, his voice cutting the silence and the noose from above me.

"I'm ready to swear your oath," Jon disputes.

"You don't understand what you'd be giving up," Benjin tries to convince Jon, and I can't help but feel like it's for my sake. "We have no families. None of us will ever father sons."

"I don't care about that!" Jon cuts him off.

"You might," the dark haired man looks at me from the corner of his eye. "If you knew what it meant. What you were giving up."

The merry chatter of two drunkards coming out of the hall disrupt the awkward silence that has peireced the air once more.

"I better get inside," Benjin declairs. "Rescue your father from his guests. Lady Eliza?" he holds out his arm to me but I shake my head.

"I was quite faint before. I think I'll stay out a little longer. Take some air."

He nods at me understanding then tunes to Jon. "We'll talk later."

He turns off and heads towards the hall. Jon stands stock still staring after him.

"Jon.."

"Your uncles in the Nights Watch."

We both spin round to see a rather unexpected sight. A man, a dwarf, all dressed in red leather leans up against a barrel off to the side of the barn. I know who he is instantly.

"What are you doing back there?" Jon asks, agitation clear in his voice.

"Preparing for a night with your family," the dwarf utters before taking a chug from a skin help in his grasp. He looks after the black cloak that is disappearing in the direction of the hall. "I've always wanted to see the Wall," he mutters walking closer towards us.

"You're Tyrion Lannister," I say flatly. "The Queens brother."

"My greatest accomplishment," the dwarf declares raising his skin up into the air.

"And you," he says looking up at Jon. "You're Ned Stark's bastard aren't you?" Jon stiffens and his hands curl into fist at his side. I take a step towards him wishing to comfort him in any way that I can, but he pushes past me and back towards the hay-man's post.

"Did I offend you?" Tyrion calls out after him. "Sorry. You are the bastard though?"

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," Jon replies stopping at the line of the fence.

"And Lady Stark is not your mother," the blonde adds coming up beside me. "Making you: bastard." The look on Jon's face forces me to intervene so as to take some of the tension of the conversation off of him.

"I do not believe we have been introduced," I say boldly, looking down at the small man with a tight smile. "I am…"

"Eliza. Soon to be the wife of Robb Stark and the future Lady of the North," the dwarf says matter-of-factly, cutting me off. "I know who you are as well." A smirk spreads across his face. "However, you are somewhat of a mystery. A young girl appears in the North four years ago, makes a place for herself in a noble and powerful family, and soon will be entering that family through marriage. What game might you be playing Miss Eliza?"

With each word he spoke my temper roared and my hands shook in fists at my sides until I could stand his speaking no longer.

"If you wish to believe me in a negative light feel free to do so. However," my voice rises, "should you believe I have _any_ ill will towards the Stark family or any underlying meaning to my presence amongst them you best hold your tongue!" My outburst causes both the dwarf and Jon to take a step back in surprise.

"The Starks took me in when I was near death, when I was at a point in my life where the only thing I desired was solitude and emptiness. They gave me something to live for and I will spend the rest of my days repaying that favor." I am nearly ready to conclude my shouting when another point he mentioned crosses my mind. "And as to your pervious statement, the marriage between Lord Robb and I was never officially stated to the public because Robb and I refuse to marry. It was a concept set forth by My Lord and Lady without either of our permission or desire. Robb is a dear friend and brother too me and nothing more. I would never bring myself so low as to marry into this family solely for the purpose of greed!"

My chest heaves up and down and I try to steady my breathing. As I do so the two men stare blankly at me, both too shocked to say anything. After I have calmed the realization of what I've just done sinks into my stomach and a sickening feeling washes over me. I hold my demeanor however so as not to show weakness in front of a Lannister. It is when I catch sight of Jon in my peripheral vision that I recall what made me enter this conversation.

"And to add, though Jon may so be a bastard," it sickens me just to use the word. "He is acknowledged as a child of Lord Stark and a sibling to his children. Labeling him as a bastard is unnecessary."

Tyrion looks at my quizzically before turning his head towards the dirt and swishing around the contents of his skin. When he looks back up he has something that resembles compassion in his expression, which throws me off guard. "If that is what you think," he moves his attention from me to Jon. "Let me give you some advice bastard." I grit my teeth at the word and my hand reaches towards my hip for my – presently – nonexistent sword. "Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor! And it can never be used to hurt you."

The hand at my side relaxes and I find myself actually agree with the dwarfs words. I can see the contemplation in Jon's face on whether or not to take what the Lannister says to heart, however I think that he should. The words the small man spoke have the same meaning to the ideas flittering around inside my head that I've wanted to say to Jon myself, I just never found a way to say it. Lord Tyrion's wording makes perfect and logical sense.

"What the hell do you know about being a bastard?" Jon challenges.

Tyrion looks on him with a sad smile. "All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes."

His attention then shifts onto me. He holds up his hand and says, "Since we are two members of the primary parties of this evening I'm sure our absence has been noticed. Shall we?" To my own disbelief, I take his hand. I look to Jon with a wry smile and he nods his head telling me that he's fine and I should go. At first I am reluctant but I find that Lord Tyrion is probably right and if I don't leave now soon someone will come out searching for me.

We make our way towards the hall and I hear the _thump thump thump_ of metal on wood behind me.

"He is blind."

"I'm sorry My Lord, what?"

"It took his uncle all of three seconds to see your feelings for him, as I'm sure Lord Robb Stark must also know of your feelings, that being one of the reasons you two do not wish to marry. However the Snow boy is blind to it."

I stare down at the dwarf my mouth agape. This man has known me for all of a minute and he has seen right through me and forced me to let out a side of myself that has been hidden away since I arrived in the North. As we enter the hall and the dwarf releases my hand and trots off in the direction of his brother I can't help but stare after him. Who is this Tyrion Lannister?

"Oh Eliza! There you are!"

The cry of my name draws my attention to a fairly drunken Robb standing atop one of the dinning tables. He holds a mug of ale in his hand and stumbles about on the table top knocking over food and others drinks.

"How about a song?" he cries out above the crowd and all eyes are drawn on me. Those that are from the North and know me cheer and raise their mugs towards me agreeing with Robb's idea.

"The girl sings?" King Robert bellows over the wench seated on his lap. His voice is slurred and his face rosy red from wine.

"Aye that she does!" Robb cries out hopping off the table and jogging towards me. "Please my fair, fair lady," he winces when he realizes mistake and quickly mouths 'sorry'. "I beg of you lovely Eliza," he kneels before me. "Grace us with one of your lovely songs!"

I can't hold in my laughter. "Oh all right!" I cry out and the room cheers.

I tug Robb up to his feet. "Give me your sword," I ask, my hand out held.

"Oh, so we are to be graced with a dance as well," Robb smiles brightly and unsheathes his sword. I quickly take it from him before he accidentally stabs himself with it.

"Go sit down you bloody idiot," I reproach before making my way to the center of the hall. As I do I nod my head towards the band and when the young violinist sees the blade in my hand he knows exactly the song I am going to sing.

I take my place in the center of the hall and for the first time that night the entire room goes silent. I hold the sword out in front of my, both my hands on the hilt, one on top of the other, and the music begins:

The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun,  
and her kisses were warmer than spring.  
But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,  
and its kiss was a terrible thing.

The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,  
in a voice that was sweet as a peach,  
But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,  
and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.

As he lay on the ground with the darkness around,  
and the taste of his blood on his tongue,  
His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,  
and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,

"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,  
the Dornishman's taken my life,  
But what does it matter, for all men must die,  
and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"

As I sing I twirl the sword around in intricate patterns and designs. I step and jump round in ways that no one in the North, and I'm sure even in the South, have seen since I displayed them. After all it isn't truly a dance but a sword fighting style from across the Narrow Sea that I have adapted to make more elegant. It was a pastime done simply out of boredom but one day Sansa saw me do it and asked if I could perform for them, and so my sword fighting also became dance.

The song comes to an end with my knees on the floor and my arms held out before me with the sword laying in my hands; my left hand holds the blade while my right clutches the grip. When the last beat of the drum stops there is a few seconds of silence before thundering applause meets my ears.

Robb comes up and holds his hands out to me. "Amazing as usual," he compliments and he helps me to my feet. I nod as a show of thanks. He reaches out for the sword and I pull it out of his grasp.

"If you think I'm letting your drunken ass take this freshly sharpened blade than the Crone did not give you enough wisdom," I reprimand him but he merely laughs and leans over me to grab at his sword again. I shove him off and flip the sword around in my grasp so that the blade is pointed towards him.

"You couldn't beat me with your own blade. You wish to fight me bare handed?" I challenge and he quickly backs away. I tuck the sword into the red rope tied round my waist – it feels good to have a sword at my side again. Robb escorts me over so that we may take our seats at the head table where I am greeted by a very displeased looking Catelyn. Clearly she does not approve of me pointing a sword at her son in the presence of the royal family.

"My apologies My Lady," I say as I sit down beside her. "You know that I would never harm Robb."

"It isn't my son I'm worried about," the woman declairs rather merrily. "It is that dress. The blade has already torn the out layer of your skirts Eliza." I peer down to see that she is right.

I look up at her sheepishly. "I am sorry My Lady."

"It is quite alright," Catelyn sighs. "Your performance was amazing as usual."

"Thank you My Lady." I glance across the table in search of the younger Starks. I see Sansa seated beside her lady's maids, the three young girls are working at a stain that has emerged on Sansa's collar. I glance down a ways in search of Arya only to find she is not seated anywhere at the table.

"Where is Arya?" I ask turning to Robb.

"She decided to have a little fun with the stew," he indicates towards Sansa and now I understand the presence of the stain. "Mother had me put her to bed with the boys shortly before you started singing."

"Well aren't you a caring older brother," I chide pinching playfully at his cheeks.

"Stop that!" he cries brushing my hand away.

"Perhaps you should go to bed too," I say. "Your face looks a little flushed from all that wine."

"I only had three cups!" he squelches before a rumbling burp leaves his throat.

"And it would appear that three is your limit," I laugh.

"You are not my mother nor my wife. I don't have to do as you say."

"True, but I am your friend and as your friend I don't want to be washing vomit off of you later tonight. Which I will be doing if you don't stop drinking and get some rest."

I scoffs and clumsily rises to his feet. I stand up beside him so that he may lean on my shoulder.

"If you say so La… Eliza."

"Come on," I say beginning to lead him towards the exit. "You know you weight a ton Robb, picking up your feet would be quite helpful," I grunt from underneath him.

"Yes, yes, yes. As you say Eliza hater of the word 'lady' of the North." His words slur together and I can hardly understand them as we stumble our way through the hall.

"I'm going to laugh all day tomorrow when you complain of a headache during the hunt," I chortle.

"I'll be fine!"


	5. The Hunt and The Fall

The Hunt and The Fall

"Okay, so I'm not fine."

"I'm sorry. What was that?" I say loudly near Robbs ear and he winces in pain.

"Alright! Alright! I get it," he cries. "You were right. As usual."

I smirk, satisfied.

"Our party will be moving out soon. The two of you best prepare your horses," Ned advises, coming up beside us.

"Sorry father," Robb says tilting his head. "We have already prepared them earlier. Eliza and I were just taking some air before the hunt begins."

"Perhaps next time you will drink a little less so that the stomping of horses hooves doesn't rattle your head," Ned chuckles as he continues walking by leading his great white steed by the reins. I giggle softly as he passes.

"I'll go retrieve the horses," I say. "I'm sure their voices should 'rattle your head' just as much as their feet and now they are more rowdy knowing that a hunt is on."

"Thank you Eliza," Robb nods his head and then winces at the pain that flashes through his temple.

I make my way towards the stables, tucking my cloak tighter around my frame. The feel of my sword hitting into my thigh with each step I make is a pleasure after its absence for all of the previous day. As well is the freedom of my trousers over the confines of those wretched skirts.

I am halted on my way to my destination however when I hear a gruff voice speak to my left.

"Ruff night imp?"

It is Sandor Clegane; the man with the burned face. I heard very little about him since the royal party's arrival other than his name. He sits atop a barrel leaning his back against the barn wall as he secures a boot onto his right foot. Sitting beside him is Tyrion Lannister who's head wrest up against the wooded paneling of the barn. He appears to be in a similar state that of Robbs.

"If I get through this without scratching from one end or the other, it'll be a miracle."

Or perhaps he stuck his tiny Lannister prick in one to many a Northern whore the other night.

"Didn't pick you for a hunter," Clegane retorts.

"The greatest in the land!" Tyrion declares cheerfully. "My spear never misses."

"It's not hunting if you pay for it," the burned man says rising to his feet and inspecting a blade in his belt.

"I'd agree with that." The words have left my lips before I even realize they've come to my mind. The two men glance over to me only now noticing my presence.

"If it isn't the Lady Eliza. Oh, sorry." I ignore the dwarfs quip and stride closer.

"I agree with you," I say, looking up into the face of the burned man. "It is not hunting if you pay for it." I look down over to Tyrion. "Though I'm sure your itchy prick would have trouble finding one up here that'd take you without a coin."

"Is that a comment on my _label_ Lady Eliza?" The dwarf smiles up at my wickedly.

"No," I retort with my own wicked grin. "It is a comment on your name. A _Lannister_ always pays his debts. Every woman in the Seven Kingdoms knows who you are My Lord. Everyone wants a piece of that 'Lannister gold'."

Tyrion chuckles slightly under his breath. "Cleverly played Eliza."

I nod my head triumphantly and can't help but notice that he recognized me solely by my name without placing 'lady' in front of it. Tyrion seems to be the only Lannister I've met that I haven't disliked.

"Eliza." I spin round to find Theon holding out the reins of my horse to me.

"Thank you Theon," I say taking the rains in my hands and running my hand through the rough main of my stallion.

"A woman going on a hunt," Clegane scoffs behind me.

"Aye," I smile at him. "And I'm sure I'll catch more than you will with only my dagger Ser Clegane."

The man glares down at me and sticks his dagger back into his belt with a _clink_.

"I'm no Ser."

"And I am no Lady," I smile and lead my horse away.

Robb waits for me near the rest of the hunting party, his horse now at his side as well as Bran.

"I want to go with you!" the boy insists.

"I'm sorry Bran," Robb says apologetically. "Father's orders." I come up beside the two and Robb looks at me, begging me for help with his eyes.

I kneel down beside Bran and place my hand on his shoulder. "How about this," I say. "When I get back I'll take you out riding and we'll hunt some rabbits?" Bran grins widely and nods his head up and down furiously.

"Alright then," I glance over to see Lord Stark and King Robert conversing on horseback. "We're most likely going to leave soon," I say turning back to Bran. "Perhaps you can watch us go from the old tower on the eastern wall?"

"But I promised mother," Bran protests, looking down at his feet.

"Do you know what?" He looks back up to my smiling face. "You always look at your feet before you lie," I say tapping my finger on his nose. The boy laughs and playfully pushes my hand away.

I rise back up to my feet and wrest my hand atop his head. "I'll see you when I get back Bran," I say ruffling up his hair.

"Okay Eliza," Bran says cheerfully as I hop up onto my horse.

I nod to Robb and he trots off after the rest of our party which is making its way out of the grounds and towards the woods. I'm about to follow behind when Bran calls out behind me.

"Can you promise me something else?"

"Of course Bran."

"Will you sing 'The Last of the Giants' tonight? It's my favorite and I didn't get to hear you sing last night."

"Of course Bran," I smile and spin my horse round. "I will see you when I return!" I shout back to him but I know he's probably already run off to the tower to watch the hunting party ride into the forest.

"Well how about that?" I say coming up beside the hound-helmeted Clegane. I hold up the third rabbit I've caught since the hunt began. I've also shot down three birds and a deer.

The man just grumbles and rides off without a word.

"Made a friend have you?" Robb jokes as he rides up beside me.

"Shut your mouth!" I reproach as I secure the rabbit into my satchel. "How are you doing?"

"I've managed two deer and a sparrow."

"Tonight's meal is going to be the largest we've had in a while," I notice. "With all these extra people helping us hunt there's going to be a lot more meat to go around."

"And you and Bran will probably catch enough rabbits to make a good stew."

"I was actually hoping to catch enough for each of the direwolves."

"Well I'm sure Grey Wind will be very grateful," Robb says with a laugh.

The two of us trot along following behind the rest of our party when I hear the thundering of hooves behind us. I move my horse out of the way just in time for one of the squires we left back at Winterfell to ride through.

"What is that about?" Robb questions staring after the rider.

The man heads straight to the front of the line where Lord Stark and King Robert lead. I see the squire exchange a few words with Ned before the Lord of Winterfell flings his horse round and charges through the rest of the party and Robb and I. The squire and the King follow him but stop when they reach us.

"I am so sorry My Lord, My Lady," the squire says nodding to Robb and I.

A strange feeling begins to set in my stomach at his words and the sound of his voice as he says them.

"What is it?" Robb asks, his voice reflecting my thoughts.

"It is Lord Brandon," the squire stutters a little. "He fell from the eastern tower."

That is all I need to hear before I spin my horse around and bolt towards Winterfell. I hear Robb's horse close behind me but I don't care. All I care about it knowing that Brandon is alright. That he's alive. That that little boy I saved four years ago, that little boy who so desperately wanted to go hunting, that little boy I encouraged to go climbing up the eastern tower… He has to be alive.


	6. Farewells

Farewells

Bran's face seems whiter than the snow laying on the ground and with every heave of his tiny chest and ragged breathing I feel like a thousand needles are piercing my heart. I keep running my fingers through his soft brown hair praying that he'll open his eyes. Maester Luwin says that since Bran survived the night he'll live but… It's been two days and he still hasn't woken.

Catelyn sits on a stool on the other side of Brans bed knotting together some type of circular twig structure. I haven't looked close enough to see what it is. All of my attention has been on Bran.

"Eliza you need to eat." I don't even react to Robbs voice. I just keep stroking Brans hair.

"Even mother has eaten while she's been here," I hear the clatter of utensils and plates behind me. "You haven't eaten a bite." A hand clamps down on my shoulder.

"Bran wouldn't want you to lose your heath for his sake."

"I can't just leave him," a tear slips down my face of its own accord as I speak.

"Robb is right."

Robb and I both startle at the sound of Lady Starks voice. It's the first time she's spoken since discovering Bran's condition.

"My Lady," I protest.

"No," she shrieks. "Go."

"I am not so easy to be rid of My Lady," I say sternly as I tuck the furs keeping Bran warm under his chin. "I will not leave until Bran is awake."

"If you refuse I will have Robb drag you out of this room! Whether you be crying or screaming!"

I look to my Lady to see tears welling in her eyes.

"Please," she whimpers. "I would like to have some time alone with my son as well."

I bite my lip then turn back to Bran's calm sleeping face. I tuck a few stray strands of hair back into place and rise to my feet. Robb places his hand on my lower back and escorts me out of the room. As we leave I hear the faintest words of thanks coming from Lady Catelyn.

Robb leads me down the stairwell but stops before we enter the hall.

He turns me to face him and it's the first chance I've looked at him since the woods. His eyes are red and swollen and his own face is a little pale. His shoulders are slumped like a heavy weight has been thrust onto them. This isn't just the effect of Bran's condition showing on him, there's something else.

"What's wrong?"

Robb sighs and leans against the stone wall. "Father has announced his decision to go south to Kings Landing. To be the Hand of the King." My mouth falls open of its own accord. At a time like this he's just going to leave? And if he leaves that means…

"You are going to be Lord of the North."

Robb nods his head and then leans it up against the stones. No wonder he appears to have a weight to him. That is a lot of responsiblility to place on someone of his age at such short notice. I step beside him and lean my own back against the wall, my side pressed against his.

"I'll be there for you every step of the way," I say trying to cheer him up.

It doesn't appear to work however for he thrusts himself off the wall and stomps away.

"Father has announced something else."

"What?" I ask coming up beside him.

He looks at me with a furrowed brow and sadness in his gaze.

"He's taking all the ladies of the north with him, except my mother of course."

"Oh," I say. "I'm sure that Sansa and her maids will enjoy the south, however Arya will most likely put up a fight. I expect that she'll…"

"No Eliza," Robb interrupts. "_All_ of them."

His words suddenly hit me and my eyes grow wide.

"Me?"

Robb nods his head.

"What? Why in the Seven Hells would Ned take me? What use am I in Kings Landing? NO!" I shout. "No. I belong here. I need to help you and Lady Stark, and I can't just leave Bran! I refuse! I will not go to Kings Landing!"

"Yes you will."

I spin round to find Ned standing in the archway. His face is worn and tired as though he's hundreds of years old rather than fifty.

"My Lord," I protest coming closer to him.

"I need you," he interrupts. "If I could I would take Cat with me but," he glances up the stairs with pain in his eyes. "She cannot leave Bran. I'm sure you understand this?"

"Of course I understand that! But I see no reason why I must go!"

"I need someone to look after the girls. Someone I trust," he drops his heavy hands onto my shoulders. "Kings Landing is a dangerous place and they are both young and foolish still. They do not trust authority and hardly listen to reason whether it be their Scepter or myself. You are one of the few people they listen to and acknowledge. Please Eliza, I need you."

His words hit me so hard I can't even come up with something to reply. My mouth just hangs open as my blurred vision stares up at Ned.

When I finally manage to get something to sprout from my lips it is only a gasping: "I can't leave Bran."

"He will not be alone," Ned says comfortingly and I can feel his desperate desire to stay as well. He always puts his duty and the law before everything else. Sometimes I just want to slap him for it. In Kings Landing sometimes the best thing to do is ignore the law and survive so that you can keep breathing. Now that he is journeying down there I fear he will do something foolish. One day he is going to do the right thing, the lawful thing, and it's going to get him killed.

"If this is your command," I try and keep my voice steady but I can hear the creak and crack of my tone.

"Aye, it is."

I nod and he drops his hands from my shoulders.

"Thank you."

I nod again and quickly dash out into the hall before the tears start slipping down my face. I half expect Robb to come charging after me but I hear the mumbles of conversation behind me and know that his father must have had something to discuss with him. I'm grateful. I don't believe Robb has ever seen me weeping, and I don't wish for him, nor anyone, to ever see it.

As I rush my way through the halls I have no thought as to where I'm headed until I find myself in the training yard. I look around fast to be sure that no one is around and then I collapse into the dirt and weep. I cry and cry and cry till a pool of mud has formed on the ground beneath my face. I choke and strangle down cries of agony as I hold myself and rock on my knees.

When finally my throat is dry and my eyes have shed so much they are unable to shed another tear I lift myself back of the ground. Now that all the sadness has filtered out through my tears I can only feel heated anger roaring around in my core. I pick up the bow and haul a stack of arrows over to the target and shoot. I hit the bulls eye four times before I move on to other things to shoot for. First, the fifth branch up on the birch tree. Second, the last remaining leaf billowing in the breeze at least five stories above me. I keep searching my surroundings finding one thing after another to fire upon. With every release I feel a twinge of pain leave my system.

"What a strange sight."

I spin round and point my arrow directly at the heart of the young prince.

"My Lord," the words are due to reflex rather than formality. I lower my bow and remove the arrow from its string.

"It's customary for lowers to bow before a prince," the boy says cocking his head to his side with a twisted smile and it's the first time I've noticed the figure standing behind him. Clegane. When the boy looks back on me I grit my teeth and bend my knees just enough so that I'm an inch shorter than usual before rising back up.

The boys scoffs. "Strange activity to find a woman doing," he reproaches strutting his way towards me. "Also such strange dress," he remarks indicating from my head down to my boots. "To think you'd be permitted to wear trousers is quite astonishing."

I don't like the way his gaze is sculpting me. I turn around so that my back is to him and place the bow and arrow back in its proper place. I them make my way over to the target to retrieve my other arrows.

"Perhaps I should make this a custom down in the South, eh dog?"

"What did you just call me?" I shout spinning round, arrows gripped tightly in my hand and aimed for his pretty little face.

The boy chuckles. "Not you. This mutt," his indicates in the direction of Clegane. "'The Hound' they call him. My very own little pet." The way he says that makes my jaw tighten.

I make my way over to the bin. "It isn't decent to call people pets," I say dropping the arrows into their designated holders.

"Well look at him! He isn't human. Just an ugly dog with a taste for blood."

"Labeling someone based upon their appearances is a foolish thing to do!" I shout spinning round to face a shocked prince and Clegane. Their expressions done phase me however. "Especially for someone who will one day be King," I add before leaving the two of them befuddled by my outburst.

"Who do you think you're talking down to!" I hear the prince shouting after me.

I wander my way into the courtyard where I see Jon standing at the blacksmiths. I tiptoe my way up behind him so that he doesn't detect me and then squeeze the sides of his hips. He gives a cry of fright and spins round with his hand held tightly on his sword.

"Seven Hell's Eliza!" he cries.

I giggle – the first laugh since the hunt – and lean against his shoulder.

"Oh come on now? You afraid of little, tiny, weak me?" I pout playfully, sticking out my bottom lip ridiculously far.

"You? Weak? You could probably skewer me before I even had the chance to unsheathe my sword."

"True, but as you can see," I say patting down at my empty belt. "I have no sword." I haven't needed one while I've been at Bran's bedside and I hadn't gotten the chance to retrieve it yet. Jon must have seen the realization in my face for he quickly pulls me into a hug.

"I'm glad you're doing better," he whispers into my ear.

"I'd be more than that if Bran would just wake up."

"I know."

He holds me like that for a few seconds before sparks flutter into the air surprisingly, startling us apart. I finally look down to see a thin blade being formed in front of us and look at Jon questioningly.

"That isn't for you is it?"

"No," Jon laughs. "It's a gift for Arya."

I smile knowingly. Jon and Arya have always had this special connection. The daughter that feels like she doesn't belong and the baster that is labeled as un-belonging. They found comfort and solace in one another's company. I have always admired their connection.

"I'm sure she'll love it," I say. "I suppose she'll be taking it down to Kings Landing with her."

"Yes," I hear a shift in Jons tone that pulls at my curiosity.

"What's the matter?"

He refuses to look at me as he speaks. "I hear that you will be going south as well."

I sigh. "Unfortunately yes. Lord Stark has insisted that I accompany them to take care of the girls when we arrive at Kings Landing."

"I see," Jon mumbles. He still doesn't look at me and a strange intuition pulls at me.

"There's something else?" I question.

Jon finally gets the courage to look at me again and there is pain across his face. I feel a combination of worry and fear well up inside of me.

"Eliza," Jon sighs. "There's something that I haven't told you."

"A sword for the wall?"

Both Jon and my heads spin to see Jamie Lannister making his way in our direction. It isn't until he's standing beside us that my mind has caught up with his statement.

"Wall?" I speak the word without intending too and I see panic in Jon's eyes.

Jamie must not have noticed my presence for he continues to speak only to Jon pulling Jon's attention away from my confused expression.

"Ah, I see you already have one," the blonde remarks as Jon turns to face him revealing the long, strong blade at his side. "Good man."

"Jon," my voice is quite, barely loud enough to be heard over the roaring fires and hammers in the blacksmiths. "What did he mean by that?"

"Eliza I was about to tell you."

"You're going to the Wall?" I feel tears once again welling up in my eyes.

Jon can't bring himself to look at me in the eyes, let alone make a response. His head falls down so that his attention is only the ground rather than my distraught face.

"When?"

"I leave with Uncle Benjin the same day you leave for Kings Landing."

I bite my lip attempting to prevent myself from crying but the tears slip down my cheeks anyway. I finally remember that Jamie is standing beside us and quickly bow my head before rushing off towards the castle.

As I run I can practically hear my heart shattering in my chest and painful sobs choke me. Knowing I have no other place to go I run straight into the woods and fall at the roots of the weirwood tree. I gaze into its carved trunk to see its blood red sap-tears and for the first time in a long, long time, I bow my head and I pray to the old gods.

I pray for Bran; that he may wake soon. I pray for My Lord Stark; that nothing befall him whilst we are in Kings Landing. I pray for Arya and Sansa; that they may find some comfort while away from home. I pray for Jon; that for once, maybe he will find happiness, comfort, and a family that he so deserves when he arrives at the Wall. I also pray for myself, although it is not so much a prayer as it is a pledge; that until I have breathed my last, I will protect this family and never let any harm come to them.

"You are prepared for your departure?" Lady Stark questions me when I enter Brans room.

"Yes My Lady," I respond before sitting on the bed. I brush my fingers through Brans hair and smile weakly. We leave very shortly and I came to say my farewells.

"I'm sorry I won't be here when you wake up Bran. I know I promised that I'd take you hunting but I don't think I'll be able to keep it. However," I say running my hand along the length of his cheek to his chin. "I can keep my other promise."

I take a slow deep breath and begin to sing:

Ooooooh, I am the last of the giants,  
my people are gone from the earth.  
The last of the great mountain giants,  
who ruled all the world at my birth.

Oh the smallfolk have stolen my forests,  
they've stolen my rivers and hills.  
And the've built a great wall through my valleys,  
and fished all the fish from my rills.

In stone halls they burn their great fires,  
in stone halls they forge their sharp spears.  
Whilst I walk alone in the mountains,  
with no true companion but tears.

They hunt me with dogs in the daylight,  
they hunt me with torches by night.  
For these men who are small can never stand tall,  
whilst giants still walk in the light.

Oooooooh, I am the LAST of the giants,  
so learn well the words of my song.  
For when I am gone the singing will fade,  
and the silence shall last long and long.

I sniffle and wipe the tears from my cheeks when I finish.

"I know it probably wasn't my best performance," I chuckle. "But I hope that you enjoyed it." I lean down and kiss his forehead. Is skin is warm and clammy but I can hear his breath blowing in and out of his nose.

"You are so strong Bran," I say while tears slip down my cheeks. "I promise that when I see you again I'll keep the rest of our arrangement." I have Brans hands grasped in my own and it takes me a moment to realize there is an extra one splayed out on top of ours. It is Catelyn's, and she has tears cascading down her face like streams.

"Thank you," she whispers. The only response I can muster is a nod.

After a few moments I slip Bran's tiny fingers from my hands and place them back on the bed. I rise up and walk so that I'm standing above Lady Catelyn. I bow and say, "Farewell My Lady."

"Dear girl," Catelyn rises up from her chair and wraps her arms around me. I embrace her just as tightly and feel warm tears dripping onto my neck. "Thank you for being here," she whispers before pulling away and holding me at arm's length. A weak smile dances on her lips. "I look forward to seeing you return to Winterfell in the future. When you become the next Lady of this house." Due to the circumstances I do not comment on the subject. I merely nod my head and slowly make my way out of the room.

I stumble my way down their stairs and out into the courtyard to prepare my horse. I secure her saddle tightly and strap my saddle-bags onto her sides. When I'm sure she's well prepared I stumble into the store area and grab a small sack of grain.

"Here," I say holding out a handful. "We have a long ride ahead of us girl," I say as her lips and teeth nibble at my palm.

"You seem to show kindness to all manners of beasts."

The voice startles me and I jolt, dropping the remaining grains onto the hay covered floor. Standing in the opening of the stall is the armored Sandor Clegane. He looks down at me coldly, his dark hair blowing in his face allowing me to see the scar for the first time at such a close distance.

"Are you just going to stand there like a fucking idiot?"

I shake myself back into reality. "No Ser…"

"I've told you before girl," he growls. "I'm no Ser."

"Aye, I remember," I respond turning round and pouring some more grain into my hand.

Though he say's nothing I know that the Hound still stands behind me in the archway as I feed my horse. I can feel his eyes boring into my back, but it isn't a bad feeling like he'd harm me. I don't get that type of sense from the large, armored figure.

"You best be careful of what you say to the prince."

I spin round to face the man again.

"I'm sorry?"

"What you said the other day," the man grumbles so it's hard for me to understand him. "The prince has an eye out for you now and since you're not a lady," I smirk, knowing he remembers our first conversation, "you best do as you're told. A prince is a prince and he can have done whatever he likes. If you keep doing what you're doing it might cause you some trouble."

"Is that concern I detect from you Clegane?" I smile and I see his body go ridged causing his armor to clink together.

"Just shut the fuck up and do as your told girl!" he growls before storming out of the stall.

I laugh and turn back to my horse. "Well that was a little unexpected huh?" I say holding up another handful of grain to the horse. She whinny's and stomps her foot. "I'll take that as I yes," I say running my empty hand along her neck.

After finishing off the small sack of grain I bit in her mouth and lead her outside by the reins. I tether her up to a post near where the carriage is being loaded and swipe a carriage from one of the bins. I quickly shove the vegetable into her mouth and hold up my finger to my lips when she whinny's loudly. I smile brightly and pick up my head just in time to see Jon marching over to his horse with his saddle over his shoulder.

"I'll be back," I pat my steed and jog in Jon's direction.

I'm about to shout out his name when Robb comes up beside him. I slow my pace and follow a little ways behind them, just close enough that I can hear what they're saying.

"Did you say goodbye to Bran?" Robb asks.

Jon nods his head, panting under the weight of the saddle.

"He's not going to die," Robb declares. "I know it."

"You Stark's are hard to kill," Jon wheezes from underneath the heavy weight. They both chuckle quietly.

Robb slows his pack and give's Jon room to lay the saddle down. I can hear the change in his tone as he asks his next question: "My mother?"

"She was very kind," Jon responds flatly before lifting the saddle back up and onto his horse.

I reproach myself for forgetting how hard it must have been for Jon to say goodbye to Bran. Catelyn was distraught when I saw her earlier. No doubt having her son in a sleeping state and her husband back off to the south must be having a strong effect on her. Jon's presence must have made it difficult for her to control herself. It must have been hard on Jon. I should have been there.

"Next time I see you, you'll be all in black?" Robb says as Jon secures his saddle.

"It was always my color," Jon responds with a grin.

"Farewell Snow."

"And you Stark."

They stand there awkwardly for a few seconds before wrapping each other up in a warm embrace. It must be hard for them to say goodbye. After all, even if they weren't brothers in name they were to each other. It must be hard to say farewell when knowing that their duties will keep them apart. This will most likely be the last time they see one another. It hurts to even be an outside viewer of their situation. I can't even imagine how they must feel right not.

They pull apart and Robb turns to walk away catching sight of me. He struts in my direction and stops when he's standing in front of me. He looks down on me with sad eyes and drops his hands on my shoulders.

"I'll see you when you return?"

I nod and smile up at him. We both know that in two years' time I am to return to Winterfell and we are to marry. Given the recent events we've both decided to stop arguing the matter and deal with the situation when it arrives.

He drops his head down and kisses my forehead before walking past me and back towards the castle.

As he disappears in the crowd I pull my attention back in Jon's direction where he is staring at me. I slowly make my way towards him, my heart thudding louder with every step. When I'm finally standing in front of him it's so loud I swear that the entire courtyard can hear it.

"Jon," I mumble.

"Eliza."

That's it. That's all it takes for me to start shedding tears and wrapping my arms around his neck. I'm on my tiptoes so that I can reach and burry my face into his neck. I feel his arms wrap tightly around my waist to help hold me steady and pull me in tighter.

We stay like that for a long time; until we hear the sounds of riders mounting and people shouting their final farewells. When we pull apart my feet fall level with the ground and my hands wrest on his shoulders. He holds his hands on my hips and I take comfort in their touch.

Tears are still slipping down my cheeks and I don't care enough to stop them. This may be the last time I see Jon. I won't look away just because of a few tears. I want to place every outline of his face into my memory. His chiseled features, curly black hair, and dark eyes. I want to be able to remember them for the rest of my life.

His hand comes up and wipes a trail of water off my face and I smile as I lean into his hand. The feel of his rough skin comforts me.

"I'm going to miss you," his voice is chocked and when I look closer I see tears forming in his own eyes.

"I'm going to miss you too," I weep before whipping the single tear that has made its way down his cheek.

"Farewell," he whispers as his hands drop from my sides.

"Farewell," I reply taking my hands off his shoulders.

I step back and away from him sucking back tears.

"Eliza," I spin around surprised to find Theon holding out the reins of my horse.

"Thank you," I mumble. I glance slightly over my shoulder where Jon is still looking at me. Not having the courage to turn and face him again if stick my foot into the holder and pull myself up. When I'm seated I see Jon saddling up beside me.

"Have fun," Theon smiles slightly, dropping his hand on my thigh.

"By all the gods!" I cry slapping his hand off with a loud _pop!_ He winces and quickly recoils, cradling his hand. I smile, satisfied.

"Goodbye Theon," I say. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"Whatever," the boy grumbles before walking towards the castle. Some goodbye that was. After all these years of leering and teasing. Humph.

Jon's horse rides up beside mine as the rest of the party begins to move out.

"My Lady," Jon smirks holding his hand out indicating that I should go through.

"I'll let you have that today," I grumble and start trotting after the rest of the group, Jon following beside me.

We travel up to the crossroads where the royal party begins to head south and the small group, made up of Benjin, Tyrion Lannister, and two Lannister guards trot their way towards the North. I keep my pace steady and remain by the carriages side until I realize that Jon has disappeared from my other side. I come to an abrupt halt and turn my horse around to see Lord Stark and Jon standing at the center of the crossroads.

They speak quickly before Lord Stark turns his horse towards the south and trots his way towards the rest of our party. Jon is left alone at the crossroads, his uncle waiting for him. He looks up and the two of us make eye contact. It's like there's a knife being thrust through my chest.

I muster up the weakest smile I can. Jon returns with his own tiny smile.

Then he drops his head, tightens his grip on his reins, and spins the horse towards the North.

I sigh hevily and hold back my tears.

"Eliza," Ned is beside me. His voice soft and compassionate. "Come along."

I nod my head softly before he charges off to catch up with the royal party.

I look down at my hands, tightly gripping at my reins. When I get the courage to look back up again Jon is still thundering down the road as fast as his horse will carry him. I bite my lip and a single tear drops down my cheek.

"Farewell."

I spin my horse around and thunder off towards the south.


	7. Difficulties on the Journey South

Difficulties on the Journey South

We stop and take rest once in the afternoon and then once more in the evening to make camp. It's been three weeks since we left Winterfell and with each step forward it gets a little warmer. I look forward to the day when I no longer have to wear my fur-cloak.

Today we've stopped in a small outlying village between he North's and South's boarders at midday and decided to remain here until morning. Sansa and the other girls of our party – excluding Arya – are grateful for the lull in our travels.

From time to time I find myself drifting off back to thoughts of the North… of home. Hoping Bran is faring well, possibly even awake. Praying that Jon is safe on his journey to the wall. Worrying that the stress of being Lord has taken its toll on Robb, especially if Lady Stark is still as distracted as she was when we left. There are times I want to just jump on my horse and rid back. Not care what Lord Stark has to say. But then I see the grief and torment on his face. If the stress and hardships are effecting him now how will they affect him when he reaches Kings Landing? How will it affect the girls? I can't leave. No matter how much I may want to, I cannot abandon them.

It hurts to have our family torn apart like this. I know it must hurt Lord Stark just as much, possibly more, than it's hurting me.

The sun scorches down on us today. For the first time in a long time I've removed my winter cloak and wear only my long sleeved shirt and leather vest on top of it. The loss of weight feels strange on my shoulders, but the nostalgic feeling of warmth and loose clothing relaxes me. I throw my boots up onto the carriages wheel and tuck my arms behind my head and enjoy the sun dances across my closed eyelids.

"Eliza?"

I peak out of my left eye to see Sansa standing beside me.

"What is it?" I ask, shutting my eyes once more and readjusting my position.

"I was about to take Lady for a walk," the girls voice is very timid, like it has been for most of our journey thus far.

I shrug my shoulders uncomfortably knowing what's coming next. "Do you want me to go with you?"

I don't need to open my eyes to know she's nodding her head. I grunt as I drop my boots and thrust myself up into a standing position. "Alright then," I smile and crouch down so I can pet Lady. "You wish to go for a walk girl," I coo rubbing my palm over her soft white fur. I spring back up to my feet and snatch my sword from its wresting position against my chair. I secure it onto my belt and tuck my arm between my hip and its hilt.

"You lead the way," I say holding my arm out for Sansa to take the lead. The girl nods slightly and I smile as she heads in the direction of the royal camp. Of course that's where she wants to go. I take my place beside her as we walk.

As we pass tents and armored soldiers greet us without a word. We wander deeper into the camp where there are less men in armor and more ladies in satin gowns. We pass the queens royal carriage where a small group of the young princess's handmaidens sit playing with their hair. Sansa looks at them and when they catch her eye they all start giggling and whispering amongst themselves. Sansa drops her head shamefully.

I take Lady's leash from her fingers and wrap my free arm around her shoulders.

"You are beautiful Sansa," I say comfortingly. "So you are a little different than girls of the south. It's your individuality that makes you special. Your crimson hair, your blue eyes, you hand-made dress. You are beautiful and don't you dare let any Southern turnip tell you otherwise." I tighten my grip on her shoulders as I speak, trying to dig the message into her. She nods but I can tell she doesn't take what I say fully to heart.

Sansa has always cared too much about what others think. It could be her undoing in the capitol. Another reason for me to stay.

I'm so focused on Sansa, and she on her feet, that neither of us notice the figure in front of us till we nearly collide with him.

Sansa jumps with a start at his stern face and wanders back a few tiny steps. I on the other hand hold my ground and stare the man down. He is a man of the king's party, but there is something about him that makes me uncomfortable. Some dark glint in his eye that makes me move over so that I am standing more in front of Sansa.

"Pardon us Ser," Sansa says from behind me.

The man makes no response but glares at Sansa over my shoulder. My hand instinctively wraps around my swords hilt.

"What is this a standoff?"

Both Sansa and I spin round at the voice. I have almost grown accustomed to Clegane's spontaneous appearances. Sansa on the other hand has not. She steps back and into me nearly landing her foot on Lady's paw.

"Do I frighten you so much girl? Or is it him there making you shake?" he asks Sansa. I see him glance at me quickly and I give him a wicked smile. He averts my gaze instantly.

"He frightens me too," Clegane says looking up to the man standing on my left. "Look at that face." I bite my lip to hold back a need to laugh at his ironic phrase.

Sansa glances back over to the silent man and says, politely and in her proper voice like her mother taught her, "I'm sorry if I offended you Ser." She ends it with a slight bow over her head – ever the lady she is – and waits for the mans acceptance to her apology but it doesn't come. He just stands there for a few moments before walking off.

"Why won't he speak to me?" Sansa asks as Clegane and I watch him wander off. I too am wondering the same.

"He hasn't been very talkative these last twenty years," Clegane answers. "Since the Mad King had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers." I find myself looking back at the man with more pity than animosity, although the feeling still lingers.

"Heh speaks damn well with a sword though," the crown prince says walking up to replace the man at my left. My jaw tightens when I see the brightness on Sansa's face at his approach.

"Ser Ilyn Payne," the prince continues. "The King's Justice." He says this with a satisfactory smile which gives me the feeling that justice has nothing to do with what Payne does.

Sansa must look on him with confusion for he leans forward and gives a more exact identification of Ilyn Payne's purpose.

"The Royal executioner."

Sansa's expression falls. Though she knows that those events occur, even in the North, they are kept amongst need-to-know parties and not brought up around her. He innocence will be tested in her time at the capitol, especially if she is to become queen. Meaning she'll be married to Joffrey. I can't prevent myself from glaring at the young blonde.

It is then that the prince notices my presence. "We meet again," he says with a gleeful smile that makes me want to vomit.

"You two have met before?" Sansa asks surprised.

"We have," Joffrey responds before I have the chance. "You're friend really is a fine shot. Although, her manners are something I'm not accustomed too. I look forward to becoming more acquainted with her." His eyes go up and down my figure making me shiver slightly. "As well as with you My Lady," he adds once again turning to Sansa.

"What is it my sweet lady?" he asks bringing his hand up to graze Sansa's cheek. The grasp I have on my sword is so tight I believe I am cutting off blood flow.

"Does the Hound frighten you?" he asks glaring behind her and up to Clegane. "Away with you dog! You're scaring My Lady." The sweet smile he gives Sansa after such a cruel remark gives me the desire to slap him. I attempt to give Clegane an apologetic smile but he has already started walking away.

"The sun's finally shining," the prince remarks. "If you ladies would walk with me?"

"I would be delighted, but Eliza has some matters to attend to with my father."

Wait, what?

Sansa turns to me and mouths: 'please?'. I sigh and nod my head.

"Yes," I say, clarifying Sansa's statement. "My apologies," I say towards the prince with a slight bow.

"What a shame. Perhaps another time." Again I find him staring me up and down.

"Goodbye," Sansa says quickly before the two scurry off in the direction of the river. As I watch them go a strong desire to follow them secretly overcomes me, but when Lady wines at my feet I realize it is not possible.

As they disappear into the brush I try and rise up higher so that I may see them better but it's no use. I gnaw at my lip till the slight tinge of blood pierces my tongue.

"You care for that girl a great deal."

I don't even turn around to acknowledge his return.

"I care for all the Starks a great deal."

When I can no longer make out even the slightest tinge of red in the tree branches I turn around and find myself standing face to face – well, more like face to chest – with Clegane. I tilt my head up to look into his face.

"You shouldn't care about others so much," he says. "Eventually everyone dies."

"True," I respond moving around him, pulling Lady with me. "But at this moment they are all alive and I intend to do everything I can to keep them that way."

"That's fucking foolish," he growls coming up beside me.

"Perhaps," I smile weakly. "But they are all I have. I would give everything I have to ensure that Sansa, Arya, and Lord Stark are well in Kings Landing. That's why I'm here."

"And you think you can survive Kings Landing?" his voice displays his belief that I am just as out of my element as the Starks are.

"Yes," I reply strongly. "After all, I survived it once before."

His feet cease and he falls behind me as I keep moving forward.

I wonder why he's the first and only person I've told that to? I guess it's because I know he won't say anything to anyone else. For some strange reason I feel that I can trust Sandor Clegane. Though by all the heavens I don't know why.

It's been nearly two hours since the repot of Arya's disappearance. Lord Stark and Jory as well as nearly all the Stark guards have gone out searching for her. I even heard that some of the royal and Lannister guards have gone out looking. Though I feel their desire to find her may not be to reunite a worried father with his daughter. When Sansa and prince Joffrey arrived back at camp they seemed to have been a situation. The boy was clutching his arm and wincing in pain and Sansa was frantic. She was too distraught and upset to tell me what had happened. The only thing she could say was that Arya had run off. When the girl didn't come back by sundown Lord Stark decided to go look for her.

Ned asked that I remain back at the camp so that if she returned someone that she knows will be waiting for her. Sansa was so upset that I had her go to sleep rather than wait up with me. She was all too eager to comply, mumbling something about 'how could Arya have been so stupid'. Since then I have been pacing back and forth in front of our tent. Every once and a while scanning through the tree line in case Arya tumbles her way out. So far no luck.

With each passing minute I grow more and more frantic. My need to go out and search for the girl myself growing dire. Multiple servants come up and offer me drinks and food and try to comfort me with words of reassurance. All of which fail. I wave the most recent do-gooder away and return to my frantic pacing. My forearm hangs on the hilt of my sword and I pick at the peen block with my nail.

"Where in the seven hells is she?" I groan.

Not an instant later I hear a rumble in the trees and my head pops up just in time to see Jory come rushing through. He pants heavily and waves his arm out in the direction he's come from, wheezing as though he is trying to speak. I grab my cup from a nearby table and quickly walk over to the man.

"Here," I say holding the cup up to his lips and he drinks as though he hasn't had a sip for days.

When the cup is empty Jory speaks frantically, his words slurring together. "The Lannisters have found Arya. They've taken her before the King."

"What?" I cry. "Why would they do that?"

"The Queen has ordered it. Apparently our Lady has attacked the crown prince earlier."

Although I wish to argue such an idea it wouldn't be too much of a surprise to me if it were true. The look on Jory's face agrees with me. I sigh while the Jory calms his breathing.

"Where are they now?" I ask.

"In the dining hall of the Kings inn."

"Alright," I help him to his feet. "Take my horse. Ride to the east. Lord Stark is there searching for her. Hurry."

"At once My Lady."

Jory rushes off in the direction of our camps makeshift stables and I take off at a charging pace towards Lady Arya.

When I arrive in the inn the room is full of nearly every one of the king's party. Everyone except Arya, who stands in front of King Robert who is seated with his wife and son standing beside him. Joffrey cradles his arm and directs a fiery glare in Arya's direction. The girl stands there with her hands clenched into fist and her face twisted in frustration, eyeing the prince ferociously. I'm sure that should her new sword be at her side, she'd have no hesitation on stabbing the blonde.

"Arya," I say coming up beside the girl, placing myself between the two children's lines of vision. "Are you alright?" I attempt to lay my hand on her shoulder but she moves away before my hand is anywhere near her.

"What is the meaning of this?" I ask sternly, turning around to face the royal family.

"This is no concern of yours girl," King Robert sighs with a wave of his hand as if I were no more than a fly.

"Lord Stark should have been retrieved immediately upon Arya's discovery!" I shout ignoring the Kings dismissal. "He's been worried sick!"

"That I have been."

All eyes shift towards the entrance where Ned is forcing his way through the crowd. He shoves multiple Lannister soldiers until he's finally at Arya's side. He takes her in his arms and pulls her to his chest.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Arya cries out repeatedly showing weakness for the first time since I've arrived. No doubt her father's presence has made her cold hard armor chip away. Right now she's just a scared girl that needs her father. I step back and beside Jory so that only Ned and his daughter are left standing before the King.

"Are you hurt?" Ned asks pushing her to arm's length so that he may inspect her for injuries.

"No," Arya replies and I can see tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

Seeing his daughters distraught face he takes her back into his arms. "It's alright," he murmurs into her hair and Arya's little fingers grip his shirt tightly. I wish I could have comforted her more before Ned's arrival. The poor girl is petrified.

Now that he is assured his daughter is well and safe I can see the agitation appearing on Ned's face. He pulls away from his daughter and leers in the Kings direction.

"What is the meaning of this?" he cries.

"How dare you speak to your king in that manner," the queen scolds Lord Stark and I have an overwhelming urge to smack her or shout at her to shut her damn mouth. I don't have to however for her husband does it for me.

"Be quiet woman!" he belts at her before turning an apologetic face to his dear friend of the North. "I'm sorry Ned, I never meant to frighten the girl." I know he speaks truth. King Robert may be a fool of a King, but he is not a bad man. It's one of the few things I've learned about him so far.

"But we need to get this business done quickly," King Robert continues.

"Your girl and that butcher's boy attacked my son," the queen interjects. "That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off." It is then I realize that Nymeria is not at Arya's side and I didn't see her when I came in either. Where has the direwolfe gone?

"That's not true!" Arya screams, countering the queens words. When all eyes fall on the girl her confidence wavers but she still speaks what's on her mind. "She just, bit him a little. He was hurting Mica!" Arya says her last sentence with more confidence which results in me believing it as truth. I am even more sure when I see the corner of Joffrey's lip quirk of at the mention of it.

"Joff told us what happened," the queen says. "You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him."

"That's not what happened!"

"Yes it is!" Joffrey shouts, his voice higher pitched, like a whining baby. "They all attacked me and she threw my sword in the river!"

"Liar!"

"Shut up!"

I know that nearly everyone in the room can tell that this story is a lie, but who can argue with the queen. If I had wouldn't get my head chopped off for it I'd tell the damn bitch to shut her mouth. Her son is a liar. It's plain as day on his face.

"Enough!" King Robert shouts to silence their bickering. "He tells me one thing, she tells me another! Seven Hells! What am I to make of this?"

I don't know if this is the attitude of a father trying not to discretely defend his son or a man that is just too blind to see the truth. Somehow I doubt my first idea.

The king glances around the room and when he doesn't find what he was in search of turns back to Ned.

"Where's your other daughter Ned?"

"She's in bed asleep your Grace," I interject and Ned looks at me with thankful eyes.

That comforting notion is destroyed however as the queen speaks.

"No she's not. Sansa, come here darling."

All eyes in the room shift to see Sansa being led in by two Lannister guards. She's dressed in nothing but her under-gown and a thin sheet to cover herself. Her face is pale and her head is tilted towards the floor. When she stands before the King in front of her sister and father she nods her head slightly to simulate a bow.

"Now, child," the King says. "Tell me what happened. Tell it all, and tell it true. It's a great crime to lie to a king." This man knows nothing of children. A statement like that can do nothing but scare Sansa out her wits even more than she already is. She looks to her father for comfort but all Ned can do is nod his head.

I see her head tilt back in the direction of the King, though I know her eyes must be on Joffrey for he bites the inside of his cheek with a hard look in his eyes.

"I don't know," Sansa mumbles. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast. I didn't see."

"Liar!" Arya cries out grabbing her sister by the hair and tugging it hard so that Sansa arches her back in a 'U' shape. The red haired girl cries out in pain as her sister screams out: "Liar! Liar! Liar!" I rush up and grab hold of Arya's hand and try to tug her fingers out of Sansa's tangled bright hair. As I do this Ned grabs his youngest daughters waist and pulls her away from her sister.

"Arya!" Ned shouts loud enough that I think the floor will shake and the little girl ceases her frantic shouting and curls her hands into fists. Sansa leans herself against me and I brush out her hair lightly with my fingers.

"She's as wild as that animal of hers," the queen smirks and I find myself glaring at her without giving a damn who sees.

"I want her punished!" the queen demands.

"What would you have me do? Whip her through the streets?" the King bellows. "Damn it! Children fight! It's over!"

"Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life," the queen glares down at her husband.

King Robert glances from his wife to his son. "You let that little girl disarm you?"

Joffrey purses his lips and drops his eyes down to the floor. I try my best not to laugh but a small chuckle slips out of my lips. No matter what story he tells he still gets it wrong. The abuser who attacked an innocent boy, or the victim who was beat by a girl. I don't know which would be more disappointing to a father, but I suppose to a war hero like Robert Baratheon, losing a fight with a girl is worse than beating and innocent boy. Based on Joffrey's reaction he knows this too.

Taking his son's silence as a yes the King turns back to us. "Ned, see to it that your daughters disciplined. I'll do the same with my son."

"Gladly your Grace."

Both Ned and King Robert make their way out of the room, I take Sansa and begin to follow when the queen once again opens here large mouth.

"And what of the direwolf?" she asks, causing all of us to stop and face her. "What of the beast that savaged your son?"

"I forgot the damned wolf," King Robert growls.

"We found no trace of the direwolf your Grace," one of the royal guards informs the king.

"No? So be it," and once again he begins to head out of the room, as do we all when the queen speaks up again. Although this time, her words strike a strong cord with me as well as with the rest of the Stark party standing in the room.

"We have another wolf."

King Robert looks to his queen and then sighs. "As you will."

This time it is Ned that stops his exit.

"You can't mean it?" he questions his friend.

"A direwolf's no pet," King Robert replys. "Get her a dog. She'll be happier for it." He then charges past Ned determined that this be the last time he's stopped from leaving.

It's then that the realization of the conversation comes to Sansa.

"He doesn't mean Lady does he?" her voice is shaking and I can feel her body trembling up against me.

When no response comes from any of us and my arm wraps around her back Sansa's body goes ridged. "No, not Lady. Lady didn't _bite_ anyone! She's _good_!" She spins around, out of my grasp to face the queen and prince Joffrey. The two stand their flat faced without a drop of pity in their eyes.

"Lady wasn't there! You leave her alone!" Arya adds. Although she may be strong-willed Arya does care for her sister. Feeling the pain of losing her own direwolf is probably something she does not wish upon her sister.

Sansa flings herself at her father, tugging on his arms. "Please stop them. Don't let them do it. It wasn't _Lady_!" Sansa cries out again and I can see the pain in Ned's face as he looks at his daughters tear stained cheeks.

"Is this your command?" Ned calls out after his friend. "Your Grace," he adds coldly.

King Robert stops only long enough to acknowledge that he's heard his friend before exiting the room without another word.

"Where is the beast?" the queen asks.

"Chained up outside your Grace," a guard replies.

"Ser Ilyn, do the honor."

"No," Ned cries before Ser Ilyn can take another step. He turns to me and says, "Take the girls to their rooms." Sansa begins to weep audibly and I quickly come up beside her and place my arms around her. I nod to Ned as Sansa spins round and buries her face into my shoulder.

"If it must be done," Ned says turning to the queen. "Then I'll do it myself."

"Is this some trick?" the queen questions.

"The wolf is of the North!" Ned declares. "She deserves better than a butcher." At his words Sansa's weeping grows louder and I place my hand on the back of her head to try and comfort her as much as I can.

Ned turns away from the queen and faces me. His look asks if I have this under control. I give him a weak smile and he quickly exits the inn.

Arya stands their glaring at the queen and Joffrey and I fear she may do something drastic. I quickly signal for Jory to come over where he drops his hands onto Arya's shoulders and starts to lead her out of the inn. I take Sansa's hand in mine and escort her out as well. When we've exited the building and caught up with Jory and Arya and pass Sansa's hand to Jory.

"Take them to their rooms," I say. "There is something I must do." Jory nods and leads the girls in the direction of our area of camp.

Once they are out of sight I turn in the opposite direction where I know that Lady is chained up. I hope that I can catch up with Ned before he has killed the poor girl. Perhaps I can convince him to let me take the direwolf out into the woods.

I am not that far when a horse being led by an armored figure appears in front of me. But it's not just any figure, it's Sandor Clegane. I'm about to question his absence at the 'trial' when I see a large sack slung over the back of his horse. When he gets closer I can see dark splotches coating patches of the sack and a shoe sticks out the opening.

I feel an ache in my chest as I look up at him.

"The butcher's boy?"

"It was a command." His tone is flat and cold.

I take a step towards him so that I have to bend my head back to see his face. "Just because we are commanded to do things, doesn't mean that we must do them."

"Tell me that again when you're in Kings Landing. When the prince, who demanded a boy who merely insulted him killed, gains more interest in you. When he demands you do something for him and you refuse, how do you think he will react them?"

"I would never do the bidding of a killer. No matter what becomes of me."

"But you already are," Clegane steps forward so that we are only a nose length apart. "All men are killers. I would have assumed you'd learned that already."

"All men are killers. I know this is true," I say flatly. "But not all men kill needlessly. Killing is a way of life in this world. It doesn't matter who you kill, only why you kill them."

I step back and look from Clegane to the dead boy thrown across his saddle like a pig. "There was no reason for this boy to die, and you know there wasn't."

The Hound has no response for me, and I have nothing further to say to him. Knowing that my time to save the direwolf has most likely gone by already, I turn on my heels and head back towards camp. The stench of the butcher's boy's blood still swimming in my nose.


	8. Arrival in Kings Landing

Arrival in King's Landing

Our arrival into the South gives me no pleasure, save one: the warmth. The feeling of the sun beating down on my face and bear arms makes me feel like I'm clashing swords in Bravos. The feel of my warm leather vest and the fiery touch of the metal pins that hold it together put me in an almost relaxed state. Then I hear the churning wheels of the royal carriage and I see the golden hair out of the corner of my eye.

Every time I look at him I feel my entire body clench. Not once since we left that inn has Sansa smiled. Not once has she spoken anything other than 'I'm fine' or 'leave me alone'. The ache I feel is unbearable knowing there is nothing I can do to console her. All I can do is let her rest her head on my shoulder when she likes and wrap my arms around her.

Arya is even worse. Unlike her sister, Arya hasn't grown quite out of sadness or grief. Granted she must fully feel those after seeing what became of Mica. She has grown silent out of anger and hatred. All she does now is play with her sword secretly. Sharpening it till she can't even sheath it without cutting herself. More than once I have found myself having to secretly bandage up her fingers so that her father doesn't notice.

It must be worse for Ned. Neither of the girls have spoken with him since that night. Likewise Ned hasn't done much to converse with his two daughters, although I don't think he knows how. He is in just as much grief over the direwolf and butchers boy as the girls are.

"We'll be arriving shortly."

Lord Starks voice pulls me from my thoughts and I realize his horse has ridden up beside mine.

"Yes My Lord," I reply with a nod.

"Are you doing alright Eliza?" he asks.

"Yes My Lord," I reply. "I suppose I've grown unaccustomed to the heat after all that time in the North. I am quite warm." It's a lie, and Ned knows it. Either way he passes me his skin so that I can take a drink.

"Thank you My Lord."

"After forcing you to come down here with me I think sharing water is the least I can do." He takes back the skin and secures it back to his saddle. He looks back on me with sorrowful eyes. "I have been selfish asking you to accompany me. I know that I should have left you to remain in the North, but I needed to take someone with me. I would have brought Cat along but…" he trails off.

He clears his throat before continuing. "You are one of the few people outside of the Stark family that I truly trust. You have been loyal to me and my family and I know that perhaps it is because you feel you owe us a debt but – "

"Lord Stark," I cut in. "I am indebted to you, but that is not the reason I have remained beside the Stark family. You have become like a father to me, and Lady Catelyn a mother. The Stark's are my family and my life now." A smile spreads across my lips and cheerful tears well up in my eyes.

"Whether or not I was indebted to you, I would have remained by your side and traveled South with you solely because you asked it of me."

When I am done speaking Ned grabs hold of my left hand which is resting on the thigh.

"It is not you that are indebted to us Eliza. It is us that are indebted to you." His fingers squeeze around mine. "You have looked after my children since the day we found you in the snow. If it wasn't for you I would have lost Bran those four years ago. You have helped this family in more ways than you could ever know."

I fight back the tears in my eyes.

"I am honored Lord Stark."

"No more than I am Eliza," he says wiping the tears from my eyes before they spill out over my cheeks.

If there was ever a man I wished to have called a father when I was growing up, it would be Ned Stark. He has shown me nothing but kindness and the love a father gives to a child. That is why I am indebted to him. Not because he took me in from the cold, but because he became a father to me. The only father I've ever known.

A small squeal of a trumpet bounces back to where Ned's and my horse trot. We have fallen a little ways behind the rest of our party and quickly ride up so that we are beside the carriage that carries our supplies and Sansa and Arya. The girls are seated separately; Sansa sits on the front bench with the driver and the Septon, while Arya rides in the far back with the supplies.

Lord Stark trots his horse up ahead so that he is at the front of the party. King Robert pulls his horse up beside him and the two begin to chat quietly.

I pull my horse so that I am riding beside Jory just a few feet from the carriage.

"Grateful to finally get this horse out from under your legs?" he asks me with a smile.

"More grateful than you could know."

My steed neighs loudly beneath me and tugs on her reins so that I'm tugged forward.

"I'm sure you're just as tired as I am," I coo running my palm along her neck. The horse gives a slight shake of her head and I smile.

"All I know is I can't wait to sit down and get a nice cup of ale."

"And a nice southern girl on your lap?" I say jokingly as I pull myself back upright.

"Hmmmm," he strokes at his chin, pretending to think about it. "Not a bad idea."

I throw my arm out and shove him. Surprised by my sudden attack he nearly falls off the side of his horse but quickly catches himself.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he cries.

"Only startle you back into reality."

"It'll be interesting to see how you'll fare in the South," Jory smirks. "You've never been here before right?"

"No," I reply as the shadow of Kings Landing begins to take shape. Flags and towers begin to form the Red Keep. The shouts and cries of people fill my ears as we enter the small outer town of the capitol.

It's hard to make our way through the busy streets of the outlying village, but as we grow closer and closer to the castle the crowd thins out. Once we cross the first boundaries of the castle we're close enough to Lord Stark and the front of our company that I notice the King and the rest of the royal party is no longer present. They must have entered a separate direction from us. It is when I see the small gate that I realize we must be taking a side entrance rather than the main gate. No doubt it was Lord Stark's idea.

The yard we enter is filled with trees and servants scurry about carrying packages and bundles in every direction. Go figure Lord Stark decided to go through the servant's entrance. Knowing him, there are two purposes for this chose. One, being his sense of duty, that he is a 'servant' to the King and therefore should enter through a servant's entrance. Two, he wanted to do anything possible to avoid attention upon his arrival and retire.

My second assumption proves pointless when a young squire-looking man saunters up towards Lord Stark as he dismounts form his horse. Although I cannot see his face, I can read the agitation in the drop of his shoulders when the man welcomes him.

"Welcome Lord Stark," he says with a bow. "Grand Maester Pycell has called a meeting of the small council. The honor of your presence is requested."

Yup. I was right. His shoulders dropped even farther now. I'll be surprised if they don't pop off by the end of his time here.

He turns around to face Jory and I. "Get the girls settled in. I'll be back in time for supper."

"Are you sure you would not like an accompaniment My Lord?" I ask.

"No," Lord Stark replies. "Just be sure the supplies are unpacked and the rooms are prepared before you do anything else."

"Yes, My Lord," I nod.

Lord Stark spins back in the direction of the squire.

"If you'd like to change into something more appropriate…" the squire mumbles and I can't help but chuckle under my breath only loud enough for Jory to notice. He knocks his boot against mine and I quickly cover my mouth with my hand.

I can just see Ned's face right now. Flat, emotionless, eyes displaying the desire to kick the man for implying that his upper looks unpresentable. We've just finished a two month travel. How else would anyone expect him to look? Robed in fine silks and furs?

The man awkwardly spins around and starts making his way towards the Red Keep. Lord Stark follows close behind and soon they vanish into the castle.

"Come on," I say tugging my horse forward. "We'd better get preparations done so you can go find that southern girl Jory."

He shakes his head and quickly takes off ahead of me.

"I'll get a heads start," he cries. "No point keeping those poor girls waiting!"

"Oh so now it's more than one! What would Julianna say back in Winterfell?"

"That I'm a lucky man and should enjoy the freedom I have until we're married!"

"You're lucky I know her so well or I'm sure your fiancé would be getting a letter from me."

"Should I even save him some food?" I mumble to myself as I make my way down the hall of our quarters. Not a second after Jory and I finished unloading and preparing the last of the rooms did he jump back on his horse and ride into town to find the nearest brothel.

"I'm sure he'll have his fill with," I chuckle when I come to the dining hall.

The room is dominated by opened, stone-rimmed windows. The breeze scurries into the dining room carrying the smell of flowers and summer. Birds chirp and fly by, some of them stopping to perch on a windows ledge. The room gives off such a serene feeling, until I hear the repeated thumping sounds coming from the direction of the dining table.

The Septon, Sansa, and Arya are seated at a table packed with food. Sansa sits at the far end pushing around bits of food on her plate. She winces every time Arya's dinner knife stabs into the table. I move closer and can see a large chunk of bark missing from Arya's side of the table. Her plate is forgotten, tossed to the side to make room for her work.

"Enough of that young lady!" the Septon scolds Arya but the girl just jambs the blade deeper into the table. "Eat your food," she instructs.

"I'm practicing!" Arya cries, continuing her repeated blows.

"Practicing for what?" I ask, surprising the small group of females as I sit at the small circular table across from Sansa. "I could hear your banging down the hall," I say reaching across my plate to grab a grape from the fruit bowl.

"The Prince."

Arya replies so quickly and with such determination in her voice that I nearly choke on my grape.

"Arya!" Septon cries out and I can see her glancing around the room to make sure no one heard what the young girl said.

"Arya, you cannot say something like that…"

"He's a liar and a coward!" the girl cries, cutting me off. I can't help but fully agree with what she's saying, but saying something like this here can get her in more trouble than any wooden sword ever could.

"He killed my friend!" Arya cries, resuming her stabbing.

"The Hound killed your friend," Sansa retorts.

I'm about to retaliate and defend Clegane but Arya beats me to it.

"The Hound does whatever the Prince tells him to do!"

Inwardly I agree with Arya. Clegane is a servant. That much is clear to me. He does as he's told and obeys commands. In a way I pity his inability for not being able to make his own decisions. Yet, there seems to be a part of him that does say what's on his mind. Even if his words don't clearly display what he's thinking. His voice rings inside my head from the last conversation we had:

"_Just because we are commanded to do things, doesn't mean that we must do them."_

"_Tell me that again when you're in Kings Landing. When the prince, who demanded a boy who merely insulted him killed, gains more interest in you. When he demands you do something for him and you refuse, how do you think he will react then?"_

His words then were cold and hard, but there was a ring of truth and warning to them. He has been with that boy since he was Rickons age. Perhaps there are things he knows, reasons, why he follows a spoiled boys commands. What is it that Clegane is hiding?

"You're an idiot!" Sansa cries pulling my attention back to the dinner table.

"You're a liar!" Arya retorts. "If you told the truth Mica would still be alive!" As she speaks her stabbing pace increases until the blade comes slamming down into a chunk of meat waiting to be carved on the table.

"Enough!" Septon cries rising from her seat and making her way around the table towards Arya.

Before she can tug Arya from her seat the young girl jumps up and starts stomping her way out of the dining room.

"What's happening here?"

The whole room stops and looks at the newly arrived Lord Stark. He gazes from Arya to me with questioning eyes.

"Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady," the Septon replies coldly crossing her arms over her chest. Lord Stark looks to her than back to me for confirmation. I raise my hand up in a fist and make a stabbing motion before point in the direction of the carving knife jammed into the dinner plate. Lord Stark sighs upon the sight of the knife and turns to his young daughter.

"Go to your room," he says, sounding exasperated. "We'll speak later."

The girl stomps off and I hear the quite resonating sound of a door slamming down the hall. If we were back home, I'd have taken her side, but we're not home. We're in one of the most dangerous places in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Just one slip of the tongue could get every one of us killed.

"Thank you for your assistance Eliza," Lord Stark says as he takes a seat beside his daughter.

"You are welcome My Lord," I reply leaning across the table to remove the carving knife from its vertical position. The sight of it sends a shiver up my spine although I don't understand why. Perhaps knowing that Arya now wants to kill the prince and that I know her well enough to not be surprised should I find this blade sticking out of his back next. She is still a child, too foolish to understand the difficulties of this place.

Just seeing the tired expression on Lord Starks face makes me understand even more why he asked me to accompany him. The stress of being on the council is enough to drive a man crazy. The stress of being on the council _and_ taking care of two young girls could drive a man to suicide.

"This is for you love," Lord Stark says setting a small package in front of Sansa. He drops into his chair as though his legs were about to splinter out beneath his weight.

Sansa places her utensils down with a clink and reaches out for the parcel. She unreaps the paper to reveal a tiny glass doll laying on a pile of straw.

"The same doll-maker makes all of princess Mercellas toys," Ned explains. Sansa's face is unamused as she looks down at the doll. Upon seeing the expression on his daughters face, Ned inquires whether she likes the doll or not.

"I haven't played with dolls since I was eight," Sansa responds flatly.

Ned steeples his fingers and awkwardly looks down at them on the table.

"May I be excused?" Sansa ask the Septon.

"Sansa," I say before Septon can respond. "You have hardly eaten a thing on your plate. Why don't you," I reach my hand out and lay it on her harm but she pulls it away.

"It's alright," Ned says rubbing at his temples. "Go on."

Not a second after the words leave his mouth does Sansa push her chair back and scurry her way down the hall. In a manner much similar to what her younger sister had done earlier.

"War was easier than daughters," Ned declares when hearing the sound of Sansa's door close.

"You have only now realized this My Lord?" I chuckle and Ned looks on me with tired eyes. My smile quickly drops and I look down into my lap.

"Well," says the Septon rising from her chair as well. "I have had my fill. The two of you enjoy." She bows to us before making her way down the hall. Once I have seen she's fully gone I bring my attention back to Ned.

"My Lord, are you alright?" I ask and he leans back in his chair with a sigh.

"Was the meeting troubling?"

"Troubling is an understatement," Ned scoffs and shakes his head in an exasperated manner.

"I'm sure it could not have been that bad My Lord."

"Eliza, the kingdom is bankrupt."

"What?" I cry and wince when I realize how loud I'm being. I quickly scan down the hall to be sure no one has heard me.

"The King has been borrowing money from the Lannisters for quite some time now," Ned rubs at his temples. The name makes me nip at the inside of my cheek in frustration.

"How could this have happened?" I didn't intend for the question to be spoken out loud, but Ned doesn't show any indication at its inappropriateness.

"And now Robert is insistent upon having a joust in my honor. The crown cannot afford it."

Manners of money and royal edict have never been of any concern to me, but as Hand of the King they are a serious concern to Lord Stark. My inability to assist in this area is frustrating.

"And now both of my daughters are acting…" I can see him trying to come up for the right word to explain the girls behiavior, but it is plainly clear that he doesn't know what to describe it as. That is mostly because they are truly just being girls, something Lord Stark, nor any man, can ever truly understand.

"My Lord, I may not be of much assistance when it comes to financial matters, however when it comes to the female I can offer you some assistance."

"I would be most grateful Eliza," Ned says looking on me with hopeful, but still tired, eyes.

"I have watched both of your daughters grow for the last four years My Lord," I say. "They are both very troubled right now due to matters you are already aware of, however they are both handling them in their own ways. Arya is using frustration to deal with the pain she is feeling. I regret to say there is not much to be done to help her except perhaps speak with her. She loves you dearly My Lord and she is still so young. You are her father and right now she has lost a friend and she needs the comfort and friendship of family to help her deal with it. Sansa on the other hand is very much unlike her sister in that regard. Given her age, Sansa doesn't wish for the comfort of family. She wishes to be left alone." I take a breath and observe to see if Ned has understood what I've said.

"Alright," Ned says with a nod. He picks up his utensils and starts consuming the chicken on his plate.

"My Lord?" I say timidly.

"Yes?" he asks without lifting his head from his plate.

"I suggest you speak with Arya as soon as possible."

"Why is that?"

"Because before you arrived she was talking of stabbing the crown prince with a meat dagger."

The clattering of utensils stops as Ned's hands still in the air. One hands over his plate while the other is placed before his open mouth. His eyes are wide and staring at me. I sigh and tilt my head downward to avoid his gaze.

With a click his fork and knife fall onto his plate and his chair scratches against the floor. I hear the woosh of his loose clothing as he bolts down the hallway towards Arya's room.


	9. News From Winterfell

News From Winterfell

"How was your discussion with Arya My Lord?" I question Ned as we enter the great hall.

The older man shuffles to a stop and scratches at his neck. "Apparently Jon gave her a sword before we left home. I can't believe he would do such a thing without telling me."

I bite my bottom lip and suppress a smile. Ned notices my expression a gives off an exasperated air. "You knew?"

I chuckle and clasp my hands behind my back. "I had absolutely no idea that Jon had given her a needle," I emphasize the name Arya had given her tiny sword. Ned sighs and places his hands on his hips.

"I wish you had told me."

"I don't understand what is so wrong with her having a sword," I retort, mirroring his stance and placing my hands on my own hips. "Arya has always wanted to fight and she's good at it. Why won't you allow her to do so?"

"It is not proper for a lady to fight."

"You allow me to fight."

"I thought you weren't a lady?"

I purse my lips and a wicked smile splays across Lord Starks face.

"No, I'm not a lady," I retaliate, then drop my hands to my side in defeat. "But I am your ward, and, according to you," I mumble this statement to myself. "You wish for me to become the next Lady of Winterfell. Yet you have allowed me to continue my training and even permitted me to dress in trousers and vests," I indicate to my body as I speak. "These are things you have given me without hesitation, however you have not allowed your own daughter to do the same. It's one of the reason's she hates me so much."

"Arya doesn't hate you," Ned retaliates, ignoring the rest of my rant.

"No," I respond. "She doesn't hate me, but she does envy me. She just wants the freedom to make her own choices My Lord."

Ned stares at me in silence taking in everything I have said. After a few minutes he turns to me. "What would you suggest?"

"Let her train."

He looks at me almost appalled. However, though his expression says 'that simply isn't done' his eyes scream with the fear of a loving father that doesn't wish to put his daughter between two clashing swords.

"I know you worry about her," I say soothingly, placing my hand against his forearm as a form of comfort. "But she is stronger than you give her credit for. She is also going to poke her own eye out if she doesn't learn how to use that sword correctly."

Ned bursts into laughter at my remark and nods his head. "Alright Eliza," he says. "I understand your reasoning and you are right. I shall find a suitable trainer for her among the guards we have brought with us."

"Actually," I cut in, "I have an old friend that owes me a favor. If you'll give it some time I can have him brought here."

"May I ask who this man is?"

"He is one of the most skilled swordsman I've ever met. I myself trained alongside him." I suddenly realized – as Ned had, for his mouth parted in a bit of surprise – that this was the first bit of information I had mentioned about my past to him. It naturally flowed from my lips without a second thought.

"Lord Stark."

The voice startled both Ned and I from our silence and shifted our attention towards the iron throne where an elderly man was waddling his way towards us. In his hand is a rolled up scroll of paper that once must have been attached to a ravens ankle. A small spark – weather it me of fear or hope I do not know – came to life in my chest.

"I meant to give this to you earlier. So forgetful these days," the elderly man said as he made his way down the steps. When he was finally standing in front of us he held the scroll up to Ned. "A raven from Winterfell, this morning," he said causing the spark in my chest to intensify. I had the strongest urge to reach out and snatch the scroll before Ned got the chance.

After the older gentleman handed the paper over to Ned he waddled his way towards the throne rooms exit. Not two seconds after did I press myself up against Ned so that I could attempt a better view of the paper; my attempt was unsuccessful as the writing was hardly visible.

"What is it?" I asked franticly as Ned read the tiny writing.

"News of Bran."

I felt my entire face flush and go pale. My hands curled up into fists and my jaw clenched.

After finishing up reading the paper he had a strange expression. He turned to me with a weak smile and plopped his hand on my shoulder. "Bran's awake." I felt a weight lift from my chest but an ounce of it still remained when I looked into Ned's eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"He…" Ned's voice drifted off and I unintentionally found myself clutching to his arm. Ned sighed and tucked the paper into his pocket. "Eliza," he dropped his hand on top of mine and looked at me with teary eyes. I could feel tears forming in my own eyes. After a silence that felt as though it lasted a millennia, Ned spoke: "He is paralyzed from the waist down. He will never walk again."

All the breath seemed to shoot out of my body and I found myself gasping for air. My eyes were filled with water and my breath was wheezy and short. I choked on my air and Ned had to steady me.

"Eliza," he cried. "Calm down." He wrapped his hands around my face and forced me to look him in the eyes. "The important thing is that he is alive. Right?"

I nodded my head and my breathing began to stead. Without fully meaning to, Ned pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around me. I think it was more for his benefit than my own.

"Good news?" A new voice, unlike that of the elderly mans entered the room causing Ned to release his arms from around me. We pulled apart to see a younger man, possibly ten or less years older than myself, walking into the throne room from the same place the elder gentleman had.

Ned made no comment but his body tensed at the sight of the new arrival. Reflexively my hand landed on the hilt of my sword.

"Perhaps you'd like to share it with your wife?" the man said descending the stairs. His mention of Lady Catelyn confused me and made my grip tighten for an unknowing reason.

"My wife is in Winterfell, Littlefinger," Ned retaliated with a calm, official voice though I could hear the poison in his words.

"Is she?" the man remarked snarkily. He was now standing face to face, toe to toe, with Ned. The sense of aggression in the air made me fidget, causing my boot to squeak as it slid across the marble floor. This grasped the man, Littlefingers, attention and he turned to me.

"I have not had the pleasure," his smile made my skin crawl. "I am Lord Pyter Baelish." He nodded his head slightly to me before moving around Ned and heading towards the exit of the room without even asking my name or waiting for me to return a bow. It is only when he's standing at the door that Ned shouts out to him. The thin man spins around with that smirk still taped to his face.

"What do you mean?" Ned questioned. "About my wife?"

"What I mean, Lord Stark," the man said through sparkling teeth. "Is that your wife may be closer than you think."

It was easy to understand what the little man was saying: Catelyn was in Kings Landing. The question was; Why?

"Alright," Ned said and started walking towards Baelish. I scurried up to his side.

"My Lord, allow me to accompany you."

"No need," Ned said waving his hand at me. "Please send word to that swordsman friend of yours. If he could get here within the week that'll be good."

He started making his way forward again, but once more I moved into step beside him. My eyes pleading 'let me go with you'. I don't know what it was, but just from the few moments of this mans presence there was something off about him.

"I will me back Eliza," Ned said sternly and I sighed, reluctantly nodding my head in obedience. He made his exit with the thin, weasely man, and I stomped out shortly after them and toward the Hand of the Kings quarters to send my letter.

It was very hard for me to sit still. It was getting darker and darker outside and I couldn't stop pacing the length of Lord Starks office. I wouldn't have been surprised if I made a hole in the floor from my leather boots withering away the stone. When the creak of the doors hinges sang I sprung to attention and was greeted by a surprised looking Ned Stark.

"Eliza?" his voice was tired and surprised. "What are you still doing awake? And roaming around my study?"

"I told you I was worried," I mumbled as he walked farther into the room and towards his desk. As he slumped down into his chair I placed my hands on the desk and leaned over so I was basically laying on my side of the desk.

"What happened? Is Lady Catelyn here?"

"She was," Ned said, rubbing his temples. "She and Roderick started their return shortly after sundown."

My shoulders slumped and my own fingers managed to slide their way towards my temples. "What on earth was she doing here?"

"There was an assassination attempt."

My body froze and my face went white as a ghost. It took me to seconds to start panicking and shouting out questions.

"On who? Robb? Catelyn? Who was the attacker? How did they stop it? _Did_ they stop it? By all the Gods, tell me everyone's alright Ned! Please! No one's hurt right?"

"Calm down Eliza," Ned said soothingly and I stopped franticly moving about but I couldn't prevent my feet from tapping and my fingers from twirling amongst each other. "Everyone is alright," his words make my body slump and relax.

"What happened?" I ask, this time more calmly.

"An assassin was sent after Bran."

"What? Who would do such a thing?"

"According to our sources, Tyrion Lannister."

A mixed set of emotions hit me at the name. Although even the first syllabul of the name Lannister makes me want to kill something, I have met Lord Tyrion. I've spoken with him. He's one, no, the only Lannister I've ever met who I have not disliked. Who I don't believe could do such a thing as attack a helpless boy.

"Are you sure?" I question.

"The dagger used to attack Bran belonged to Tyrion."

Tyrion's words come floating into my mind:

"_Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor! And it can never be used to hurt you."_

I do not believe a man that can speak words like that could also send an assassin after a little boy. No someone else must be behind this, not Lord Tyrion. Good grief… I'm siding with a Lannister! Never thought I'd live to a day where that'd be possible.

"This is a matter between you and your family My Lord," I say inserting my declaration of un-involvement in this series of events. "I shall not take part in this. My duty at this moment is to look after you and your daughters."

"I see," Ned steeples his fingers and wrest his chin atop them. It is clear that he understands my opinion without me even need speak it.

After a few moments of silence I am about to say my farewells and retire, then Ned asks me a question regarding our conversation from the throne room.

"Have you sent a letter out to you friend?"

"Yes," I say cheerfully, glade for the change of subject. "Actually, his is in Kings Landing. Apparently he was travelling and I ran into him on my way to the blacksmiths in the village. It was rather lucky. When I asked him for some free time he said he'd be honored to train your daughter."

"Alright," the enthusiasm in Ned's tone was the type of reaction you'd expect from Arya should she be given a sewing set for her Name Day. "How soon can he start the lessons?"

"Tomorrow."

I made sure to rid the furniture from the room long before the time I told Arya to arrive, even though I knew she'd be late regardless of the time I gave her. I waited patiently by the side doors leading into the dining hall for her arrival. The scruffily figure I invited stood with his back to the hallway door facing the brightly lit, open windows. In his hands were a pair of wooden swords. Just the sight of them brought back memories of my training days.

When I heard the click of the door signaling Arya's arrival I pressed my back against the marble pillar to make myself as little as possible so she wouldn't notice. Of course the man standing in the middle of the empty room grasped her attention long before she'd notice my presence.

"You are late boy," the mans voice purrs when he hears the sounds of the young girls shoes clicking on the stone floor. He spins around to face her; she's wearing trousers and a loosely fitted white shirt. Her hair is knotted up on the back of her head with two braids poking out of it. I don't think I've ever seen her look more like herself.

"Tomorrow you will be here at midday," the rather round-bellied man states.

"Who are you?" Arya asks, confusion written all over her face. I knew making this a surprise would be entertaining.

My old friend flings the swords out from behind his back to display them. "Your dancing master! Syrio Forel," he responds with a musical chime to his voice and a sharp toothed smile.

He tosses the somewhat smaller wooden sword towards Arya. She flings out her hand to catch it but misses and it clatters to the ground.

Syrio plops his sword onto the ground and wrest his hands atop the wooden hilt. "Tomorrow you will catch it," he states. I recognize the look in his eyes of curiosity. Something he's been accustomed to since I've known him.

"Now pick it up," he commands and Arya waddles over to retrieve the fallen object. She secures it in both hands and retakes her place before Syrio.

Syrio's hand rises and he points at her grip. "That is not the way boy," I chuckle as he calls him boy. He used to call me boy too during our training. Said I behaved and looked like one so I might as well be one.

"It is not a great sword that is needing two hands to swing it!" Syrio cries and I watch Arya pull her right hand away from the hilt.

She attempts to raise it up and out before her but it quickly falls and the tip clinks as it hits stone. "It's too heavy," she declares.

"It is heavy as it needs to be," Syrio counters, "to make you strong!" He tosses his sword up into the air and it lands on his pointer, middle, and ring finger, balancing perfectly a few inches away from the hilt and on the wooden blade. "Just so!" He flings it back up and catches it by the hilt. "One hand, is all that is needed."

Syrio then looks Arya up and down. "Now you are standing all wrong!" he cries waving the swords point up and down from her head to her toes and back again. "Turn your body side-face." Arya does as she's commanded and then Syrio comes up closer to her to inspect her posture. He declares her posture is correct as he taps her back into a straighter position and her knees locked into place so her legs are just as straight. He places the tip of the sword under her chin and lifts it up so that her nose is sticking up into the air.

"You are skinny!" he cries and Arya shifts her head to look at him. "That is good! The target is smaller," Syrio says, clarifying so that she doesn't misunderstand his statement, he himself being a rather rounder man.

"Now the grip, let me see," Syrio commands tucking his sword beneath his armpit and holding his hand out for hers. Arya places her left hand with the sword into his open palm. "Yes," he mumbles. "The grip must be _delicate_," he says repositioning her fingers before dropping her hand back down to her side.

"What if I drop it?" Arya cries.

Syrio's face grows stern. Oh, I know that look. He pulls his sword out so quickly that if you blink you'd miss the movement and it would have appeared to move by magic. "The steel is part of your arm!" he cries. "Can you drop part of your arm? No. Nine years Syrio Forel was the First Sword to the Sea-Lord of Bravos. He knows these things. You must listen to me _boy_."

"I'm a girl!" Arya shouts. It's the first time I've seen her be so enthusiastic about her sex.

"Boy. Girl. You, are a sword," he says pointing the tip of his wooden blade at the little girl. "That is all," he declares.

He tisks as he re-inspects her grip. "That, is the grip!" he cries holding out his hand to display the proper grip once more. Arya, now able to raise the heavy sword, mimics his grip. Or, at least attempts to.

"You are not holding a battle axe!" Syrio cries and they both drop their arms to their sides exasperated. "You are holding…"

"A Needle," Arya says cutting him off and a smile springs to my face, as does Syrios.

"Ahhh," he says with a laugh. "Just so."

That was the moment I could tell Syrio liked Arya. He had said that if he didn't feel she would be fit for training he wouldn't train her and I could take up the task. However, it appears that I will not have the pleasure of continuing her training. Syrio isn't going to be leaving any time soon. I know that smile all too well.

"Now we will begin the dance," Syrio says continuing the lesson. He begins taking steps closer to Arya and with every step forward he takes, Arya takes one back.

"Remember child, this is not the dance of the Westeros we are learning," Syrio says, his tone strict. "The knight's dance. Hacking and Hammering!" he cries as he flings his useless blade in the direction of Arya's stomach. I can see the tiny bubbles of fear in her eyes even from this distance. Syrio's demeanor changes rather quickly as he twirls his sword lightly around his head and declares: "This, is the Bravvos dance. The Water dance." As he says the names of the all too familiar fighting style, Syrio gracefully and delicately spins and twirls around the wooden sword. I have the strongest urge to join him. Arya watches closely, transfixed by his movements.

"It is swift, and sudden," he startles Arya as his sword comes crashing down against her chest too fast for her even to react to its presence.

"All me are made of water. You know this," Syrio says. "If you pierce them," he pokes Arya's stomach, "the water leaks out. And they _die_." This was a lesson that always needed to be drilled into a warriors mind in my opinion. Death is final. If you cut someone in the right place they can die in an instant. You have to know how easy it is to kill to know how _not_ to kill.

"Now," Syrio says, pulling me out of my dark memories. "You will try to strike me," he places the tip of her sword into the center of his chest then quickly flings it away so that it clinks onto the stone for nearly the fifth time. I see the determination burn into Arya's stance and her eyes. She lifts the sword up into the air and screams as she bolts towards Syrio's back. He moves out of the way without even looking at her and Arya flies past him nearly tripping.

He turns back around and faces her, placing himself in ready position: side-faced, legs shoulder with apart, left hand on him, right arm help out with sword ready. Arya gets into her own ready position, relatively similar to that of Syrios. She grasps her hilt with both hands and violently starts swinging and hacking her sword at Syrio, he counters ever move she makes. Finally he slings around, knocking her off balance and she tumbles to the ground.

"Up!" he cries tapping his sword on the floor. He wrests the sword on his shoulder as Arya rises back to her feet. She raises her sword like it's a baseball bat and Syrio turns around. When she realizes she is once again holding the hilt with both hands she drops the sword back down to her side. Not two seconds after Syrio has turned around does she raise it back up in the same manner and cry out as she attempts to strike him again. He counters it without even turning around to look.

He strikes again and knocks the sword out of her hand. She attempts to pick it up but he snatches it before her. He walks a few feet away, Arya trailing behind him by a few feet, before tossing the sword back to her. This time she catches it and Syrio gives her an accomplished smile.

Once again they begin their dance. Multiple times Syrio's 'blade' lands somewhere on her body and each time it does he declares: "dead." Finally his blade is pointed at her face and her sword wrist is grasped tightly in his hand. "Very dead!" he decrees and Arya smiles, enjoying the thrill of the fight.

A chuckle goes off beside me and startles me. Ned has wandered his way into the door and beside me. A bright smile shines on his face as he watches his daughter. I smile brightly seeing his joyful expression, but my smile falters when I see his do so. I turn back to the pair jousting before us and see that Arya has already been struck once or twice in the face, the skin starting to look a little blue even now. It's then that I hear it; the metallic clang of iron on iron. No doubt the sound reverberating inside Ned's head as well. The sound of fighting, of war, of things he never wishes his daughter to see, much less be a part of.


	10. Lessons

**Hey! Sorry for the long wait. Finals have kept me busy but now that summers here I promise that more chapters are coming at you!**

**Also want to take the chance to thank all of you for supporting my story **

Lessons

"I don't want to walk around the castle! Can't you just leave me alone!" Sansa cried before slamming her door closed in the Septons face.

"Young lady," the Septon bellows through the door. "You must familiarize yourself with the histories of the Seven Kingdoms! The easiest way to accomplish this is to show you where significant events took place. Touring the castle and learning its history will help you when you become queen."

"Just leave me alone!"

I hear the shattering of glass cut through the wooden door.

Septon sighs and turns away from the door to me. "Do something would you?"

"Why do I have to do anything?" I argue. "If she doesn't want to why should she have to?"

"She needs to understand the workings of the castle before she becomes queen."

You think I want her to become queen? I'm thrilled her behavior has altered so much. The fact that she's arguing about her lessons – something I've never seen her do before – for, what I believe to be, is a new desire _not_ to be queen, is the first good news I've had since arriving in this cursed place.

"You are the only one she'll listen to Eliza," the Septon implores coming closer to me.

"What's the big deal?" I grumble crossing my arms over my chest. "So she doesn't learn her lessons for today about how the iron throne was constructed. Why does that matter?"

"It is not just the construction of the throne that is significant," Septon implores, her eyes growing wide. "It is what the throne symbolizes: the weight of a crown is unimaginable. The weight of seven kingdoms… that could crush a girl like Sansa. The weak and feeble minded would be destroyed on the Iron Throne. She needs to be prepared for what is to come."

I growl and tap the back of my head against the stone wall. "Fine…" I sigh and reluctantly push myself off from the wall and out of the shadows.

"Thank you Eliza," Septon says with a bow.

"Don't thank me yet," I say, scratching at the base of my neck where a tiny bit of stone swings in my hair. "Just because I speak with her doesn't mean she'll change her mind."

Translation: Gods I hope that I don't change her mind.

I don't even tap on the door, I just push it open and clamp it shut behind me.

Sansa sits on the edge of her bed, the glass doll Ned had given her at dinner lays in her lap. Her fingers play with the thick strands of horse hair protruding from the dolls head absentmindedly. I clear my throat in an attempt to get her attention but I get no reaction from the girl. I attempt once more, this time a little loud, but again I am greeted with no response.

Okay then. I strut over to the bed and violently thrust myself onto the feathered mattress beside the unsuspecting girl. Sansa startles and turns to me with large deer eyes.

"Hello," I greet her with a cheery, wide-toothed smile.

"Hello…" she responds slowly, like I'm a predator on the hunt.

I look from her pale wide-eyed face down to her hands; her fingers enwrapped by the dolls hair.

"I thought you didn't play with dolls anymore?" I say pointing down into her lap.

"I don't!" Sansa barks. She untangles her fingers from the red hair and picks the doll up by its fragile glass head. I see a crack begin to form as she rises up from her seat on the bed and storms over to her dressing table. The flings the doll up against the wall and it falls into a seated position, staring blankly into the air of the room. Sansa stomps away from it and drops back down beside me on the bed. She crosses her arms over her chest and stares out the window in a huff avoiding eye contact with me.

I sigh and dramatically let myself fall backwards onto the bed.

"You know, I respect your decision to stay cooped up in here," I say tucking my hands behind my head. "Staying inside a dark room reminds me a lot of home. If you miss Winterfell so bad I can always speak to your father and request our departure. The two of us could go back home, and you wouldn't have to marry prince Joffrey."

"I don't want to go home!" Sansa screeches as she leaps off the bed and spins around to face me. "I love Joffrey! I want to stay here and become his queen!"

"It doesn't appear you do though Sansa," I say calmly pushing myself back up into a seated position. "If you want to become queen you need to understand what it means to be a queen. You can't just lock yourself in your room because something bad has befallen you. Becoming queen means putting aside your sorrows to help the people with theirs. If you become queen you can't hide away in your room because you are upset, or frightened, or unable to handle what comes to you. You will be responsible for thousands of citizens, and all of them must come before yourself. And in order to become a good queen, you must learn what it means to be a queen."

Sansa stands stock still staring down at me. Her lips slightly parted and her brow furrowed.

"Are those the kinds of speeches you give my father?"

I chuckle and wrest my elbows on my knees. "Sometimes," I say. "There are other occasions where I shout at him until he listens."

"I can understand now why my father has so much faith in you," Sansa says, swaying slightly on her feet. After a few moments she finally makes up her mind and sits down beside me.

"It's not just about Lady," her voice trembles at the direwolfs name and I take her hand in mine. Her fingers tighten around mine. "Ever since that day Joffrey hasn't said a word to me. He hasn't even looked at me," her voice has a choking sense to it, like she's holding back tears.

A puff of air escapes my lips. This is about Joffrey. Of course it's about Joffrey.

I'd noticed myself how the boy hadn't once paid a visit to his fiancé since our arrival in Kings Landing. Any time I have had the _pleasure_ of crossing paths with the crown prince he'd inquire as to my comfortableness with my new surroundings – which then I would politely reply 'I am content' and storm off. Not once had he asked how Sansa was or even mentioned her name. The little runt was a spoiled brat that was too embarrassed to be mature enough to look Sansa in the eye. Coward. With each passing day in this place my disgust for that boy seems to be growing.

"What's wrong?" Sansa questions me and I quickly shake the image of Joffrey's leering eyes from my mind.

"Sansa," I say taking her hands in mine. "Since it appears you have not yet learned this lesson by growing up with your brother's then I suppose it is my duty to tell you." Sansa stares at me intently awaiting my words of wisdom. I clutch her hands tighter and deepen our eye contact.

"Men. Are. Idiots."

As she did earlier, Sansa stares at me without moving, our hands hung in the air between us.

Suddenly her bottom lip starts to tremble and her shoulders bounce. Then her mouth falls open and shrieks of laughter waft out of it. Our hands fall back down into our laps and Sansa keels over in a fit of giggles clutching at her side.

Finally. It took nearly a month to finally get her to laugh again. Gods I missed this girls smile.

"Eliza, how is it that you always know what to say?" Sansa chokes out between giggles.

"Because I have seen many things and learned much through my short years, but the stupidity of the male population is the greatest lesson I have ever come to understand."

This results in another fit of laughter and Sansa falls over on her side causing the mattress to bounce beneath me.

I wait patiently for her laughter to die out and when it does Sansa pulls herself back up beside me. I expect to see a cheerful smile still vibrantly plastered across her face when I look upon her however the gloomy expression is once again present on her face.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Do you think I'll be a good queen?"

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her head down into the crook of my neck. "Sansa, I think that you will be an amazing queen. You just need to learn what a queen is first."

"Is this your way of telling me to go to my lessons?"

"Yes," I smile cheekily.

Sansa sighs. "Alright then."

Sansa asked me to accompany her to her lessons, something I have never done before. Back at Winterfell I trained with Robb and Jon, I didn't take interest in sowing, or manners, or any other activity a proper lady should learn. I still don't think knowledge about utensils, stitching flowers, and any of that stuff can help a girl survive in this world, however I'm intrigued by the histories of the Seven Kingdoms.

I've spent a majority of my life across the Narrow Sea. The little I know of the Seven Kingdoms is from the whispers and meetings I've overheard whilst I was in Winterfell. Actually hearing entire tales and facts of the forging of the Kingdoms astonishes me. The only war I'd known of until today was King Roberts Rebellion and some of the history of the Stark family. Hearing about dragons and the original forging of the kingdoms is so intruding.

"I've heard these stories a thousand times," Sansa complains, rolling her eyes as we enter the red keep.

"Just because you can recite the tales doesn't mean you understand the meaning and lessons behind them young lady," Septon retaliates with a sharp tongue.

"It's not as if knowing the name of the lord that married some old Targaryen will actually matter when I become queen," Sansa mumbles. The Septon glares over her shoulder at the young girl but she just continues to stare at her feet.

"Now I am sure you know of the Iron throne. The place of the King for hundreds of years in the Seven Kingdoms. Formed by Aegon Targaryen; whose family sat upon it until King Robert claimed the throne," the Septon says. "Someday your husband will sit there." She holds her hand out indicating to the Iron Throne.

Although I have been in the Red Keep a few times already, I've never had the time or opportunity to actually look at the throne – the legendary throne of the seven kingdoms. Septon had told the story of how thousands of swords melted together by dragon fire formed the great chair, but words cannot describe the sheer magnitude that is this throne.

"And you will sit by his side," Septon continues, but my gaze is locked onto the magnificent structure.

"And one day, before too long, you will present your son to the court."

Well, that pulled my attention away from the throne. Sansa's son… Joffrey's son….

"All the lords of Westeros will gather here to see the little prince," Septon says with a triumphant smile. No doubt imagining the sight in her mind as a beautiful celebration with drink and merry making. In my mind however, I see Joffrey blatantly ignoring his child and wife like he has been doing since our arrival.

"What if I have a girl," Sansa's voice pierces through the air like a sliver of ice.

"Gods be good! You'll have boys and girls, and plenty of them," Septon quickly replies.

I think I vomit a little in my mouth at the thought.

"What if I only have girls," Sansa retaliates, her eyes fixed on the iron throne.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Septon replies.

"Jane Pools mother had five children," Sansa says finally turning away from the throne and towards her Septon. "All of them girls."

Now I understand. Sansa isn't worried about knowing which lord did what, or what knight slayed who, she isn't concerned with her duties as a queen. She's concerned with her duties solely as a wife.

"Yes," the elderly woman says. "But it's highly unlikely."

"What if," Sansa questions.

"Well," Septon sighs. "If you only had girls, I suppose the throne would pass to prince Joffrey's little brother."

"Then everyone would hate me."

"Nobody could ever hate you," I finally speak up and stand before Sansa. I drop my hands on her shoulders and force her to look me in the eyes and away from the iron prison of a throne.

"Joffrey does!"

To this I don't know what to say. As the Septon cries out how ridiculous of an idea that is Sansa keeps staring intently at me awaiting my response. I have none, for if I say what truly is flying around inside my head it would break her heart. I have spoken with Joffrey on multiple occasions, both in and out of the palace. None of them being pleasant occasions, none regarding Sansa. Just from the few things I've seen I know that this marriage was not an idea of his and he is completely indifferent to it. He does not care for Sansa. I don't think he cares for anyone other than himself.

The absence of the Septon's voice draws my attention onto the old womans form and my hands drop to my sides. Out of the corner of my eye Sansa is still intently staring at me.

"Why would you say such a thing?" the Septon questions the girl but she gives no response. The old woman looks at me and then I suppose the connection finally clicked into her head. "That business with the wolves? Sansa, I've told you a hundred times…" she cries, and just the mention of Lady drags Sansa's attention off my face and back onto her Septons.

"Please, shut up about it!" the young girl bellows so that her voice echos throughout the throne room. Then pushes past me and her Septon towards the exit.

"Do you remember your lessons?" the Septon calls out forcing Sansa to stop and turn around.

For every room we've entered the Septon would give Sansa a series of question to test her knowledge on a different era of history. Here she asked things such as: who forged the iron throne and the Red Keep? Without hesitation Sansa responded to each question, until she cut off the Septon and asked a question of her own. A question that I have never been given an answer too for it is hardly discussed in the North due to the painful ache of its memory.

"My grandfather and uncle were murdered here weren't they?"

The death of Ned's father and brother. I remember the first time I was told the story. Bran had mentioned it offhandedly to me one day when we were in the crypts and we passed a sculpture of a young woman: Lyanna Stark. Bran told me the overlying story of what happened; the kidnapping, the attempted rescue… the flames. Their fate was too cruel to even contemplate.

"They were killed on the orders of king Areas, yes," the Septon replies.

"The Mad King?" I question more to myself than to the Septon, but she responds none the less.

"Yes," Septon's tone is cold and flat. "Commonly known as the Mad King."

"Why were they killed?" Sansa asks and the image of the sculpted Northern Lady in the crypts of Winterfell dances around in my mind.

"You should speak to your father about these matters."

"I don't want to speak to my father. Ever!"

"Sansa," I interject before the Septon can speak. "You will find it in your heart to forgive your father. What happened to Lady was not his fault."

"No I won't," she replies coldly before turning and exiting the Red Keep, her heels thundering all the way down the hall.

"That girl has a lot to learn," Septon sighs beside me.

"I know."

"That is all for her lessons today it would seem," Septon says lifting her skirts and making her way out after Sansa. "You may spend the remainder of the day doing what you wish Eliza. Though I do request you attend the joust this evening. It is in the honor of Lord Stark so you must attend."

"Lord Stark!"

"Eliza," Ned turns around, the weight of a large book causing him to lean towards his left. "I thought you were accompanying Sansa to her lessons?"

"I was," I say coming to a stop at his side. "They have already ended. She is not in the best mood for lessons today."

Ned purses his lips and sighs. "I see," he says, his eyes falling down to the floor.

"What is that?" I ask, looking to breach the silence of our conversation, pointing at the book nestled under his arm.

"Ah, this," Ned pulls the thick, dusty book out and passes it to me. I take it in my hands and flip open the cover. I'm greeted by swirling letters and the house sigil of a bear: The Mormonts. I flip to the next page where a fish is leaping; Tully's. Lady Catelyn's birth-house. I flip through more and see many other familiar sigils, including the direwolf.

"The records of the houses," Ned says what I have already assumed.

"Why do you have this?" I ask, looking up to Ned and closing the book.

"Jon Arryn was reading this before he died."

"So you thing this may help you discover why he…" I trail off before the word 'murder' leaves my mouth. There are Lannister spies everywhere, I have no doubt of it.

"Yes," Ned nods. "I believe it will."

"If there is anything I can do, please say so."

"Thank you Eliza," Ned smiles and takes the book back.

We turn and begin making our way up the steps towards our rooms when we come across an interesting sight. Arya is on the steps, standing on one foot with her arms flailed out at her sides. She's staring straight ahead and at first I don't think she realizes we're here, but then she speaks.

"Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours."

I chuckle remembering doing the same thing myself, _long _ago.

"It's a hard fall down these steps," Ned says, and I can detect the concern in the back of his throat.

"Syrio says every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you better," she replies without hesitation. Her training has only been going on for a short time and she's already reciting the lessons. I'm impressed, but not surprised.

She drops her foot and finally looks at her father and I. "Tomorrow I'm going to be chasing cats."

"Cat's?" Ned says questioningly and looks at my slyly from the corner of his eye. I shrug my shoulders ever so slightly and wink at him. His confused expression remains on his face until it clicks; "Syrio says?" he says with a smile.

"Swordsmen should study cats. They're as quiet as shadows and as light as feathers. You have to be quick to catch them."

"He's right about that," I say. I recall the first time I myself went chasing after this grey-furred feline. No matter how hard I tried she just kept slipping through my fingers like smoke.

Arya smiles weakly at me. After discovering my involvement in bringing her beloved Syrio here she's begun warming up to me. I'm glad.

"Shall we?" Ned asks motioning towards the door. I nod and we both begin our way into Ned's study when Arya calls out to us.

"Now that Bran's awake will he come live with us?"

Ned and I stop and turn back around to face her. Ned's posture shifts just enough for me to see the uncomfortableness he is feeling in this situation. Arya knows that Bran is awake, however Ned had decided against sharing the details of his injury's with her and Sansa.

"Well," Ned mumbles. "He needs to get his strength back first."

"He wants to be a kings guard," Arya's voice sounds pained. "He can't be one now can he?"

Ned's head quickly spins back around to face me. I mouth a silent apology.

The only reason I told her was because she knew that there was something else and she threated to search through Lord Stark's office until she found the letter. Knowing that there were secrets not for her eyes hidden in Ned's rooms, and that Bran his her little brother, I took it upon myself to share the truth with her.

Ned sighs but nod's, accepting my apology and knowing it was the right thing to have done even without knowing his daughters hidden agenda.

He turns back to his young daughter and answers her question: "No."

Arya drops down to the steps and Ned sits beside her. I stride over to the wall and lean up against the warm, sun covered brick.

"He could be lord of the holdfast," Ned continues. "Sit on the king's council. He might raise castles, like Brandon the Builder. "

"Can I be lord of the holdfast?" Arya questions.

Ned chuckles and wrapps his arm around his daughters shoulders. He kisses the top of her head and says, "You will marry a high lord and rule his castle. Your sons shall be knights and princes and lords."

With each word that escapes Ned's lips Arya's smile falls and my brow furrows.

"No," Arya decrees looking up at her fathers proud, smiling face. "That's not me."

She stands back up and resumes her one footed position. Averting the eyes of her father and myself. Ned turns to me questioningly and I just shake my head and enter Ned's office before he has even risen off the steps.

I stand in front of his desk and wait for him to enter. The door crashes closed behind me and Ned drops the large book on his desk with a loud crack like thunder.

He sits down and drops his chin on steapled fingers. I place my hands on my hips and glare down at him.

"What?" he finally cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

I give him my best 'did you really just ask me that' look.

"What do you expect me to do? Lie to her! Tell her that she can become lord of the holdfast when she can't?"

"Maybe not lord of the holdfast but you just crushed every dream she had by telling her that the only thing she can do is marry a lord of your choosing and bear his children."

"I did not say that!"

"You might as well have! You just gave her the hope that she can have her own say in her life by letting her train with Syrio! Now you just crushed all of that!"

"Just because she is training doesn't mean I'm going to let her go off and become a knight."

"Why not?"

"Because that isn't proper for a highborn lady!"

"Well did you ever stop to think that maybe she isn't a lady? That maybe she's like me?"

"You are a lady Eliza! You are my ward! My future daughter-in-law and ruler of the North! Stop pretending that you aren't!"

His words choke me. My expression has shifted form hard and frustrated to soft and unbelieving. Ned is glaring down at me but even his own words have silenced him.

"Eliza…" he finally mumbles after a few moments silence.

"No," I raise my hand up to stop him from saying more. "I am who I am and not even you Ned can tell me otherwise."

I turn around and open the door. I don't hear even the slightest noise as I close the door behind me. I lean my back up against the wood and raise my eyes to the ceiling and sigh.

"Are you okay?"

Damn. I completely forgot Arya was outside. She must have heard everything.

"Yes," I say to the young girl that reminds me so much of myself when I was younger. "Please, keep practicing Arya. You are doing very well."

I start making my way down the hall only to hear Arya call out my name again. I turn back around to see the first smile on her face since Mica died.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."


	11. The First Day of the Hands Tournament

The First Day of the Hands Tournament

I swing again and again and again till pieces of bark start flinging into my eyes and I have to stop to rub at them. My sword is going to be so dull it won't even cut a feather and my arms are sore and burning. I'm panting so heavily I sound like a dog.

"Come out to play have you?'

Speaking of dogs.

"Is there something you need Clegane?" I shout without turning around. I lift my sword up in the air and begin hacking away once more.

"I could hear your aggravated grunts from the forests edge," he replies. "What's got you all worked up this time? Miss your pretty northern lord?"

"No!" I grunt as I tug my blade out of the tree trunk.

"Then perhaps it's that bastard boy you're pinning for?"

My sword is pointed at his throat before he even has a chance to realize it.

"Shut up."

The shock on his face quickly shifts into his cheeky toothy grin. "Ahhh, so it is the Snow boy then."

"No," I snarl, pushing the tip of my sword deeper into his throat but since the blade is now so dull it doesn't even make a dent into his skin.

"Then why the sudden aggression?" Clegane questions. "Clearly he doesn't care about you since he ran off to the Wall to live a life of celibacy. Has that abandonment finally drilled its way into your stupid little girly head?"

I cry out and swing my sword around to strike him but he tugs his own sword from its hilt and the metals meet with a clash. The swords press against one another and our faces press against the swords. I stare into his eyes as he stares into mine.

"You stupid girl," he grunts against the pressure of our blades. "What the fuck are you doing out here then?"

"It's none of your business!" I hiss, pulling back so that he trips forward and I can catch my breath. However I misjudged his fall and he catches himself and quickly kicks my legs out from under me. My sword falls out of my hand as I slam into the ground and he kicks it away before falling on top of me and pinning me to the ground; his knees hold down my legs and his hands grip my wrists above my head.

Clegane looks down on me with a wicked smile and I glare up at him.

"Are you still going to say you're not a woman?" he questions, and then I realize the situation I'm in.

It's just the two of us. Alone in the woods. And Clegane has me pinned to the floor. A small flutter of panic rushes through my veins.

Clegane's eyes shift down from my face to my chest where only a white shirt cover's my breasts. My cheeks begin to burn and my breathing increases, causing my chest to move up and down under his observance.

"You are a woman Eliza," Clegane says looking back at me. "You may think you are strong and can defeat everything that comes before you but you can't. Foolish thoughts like those will cause you to get yourself hurt."

His fingers tighten around my wrists and his knees dig into my calves. He stares down at me with that same burned, hard, angry face of his, but once again, I can only see kindness in his eyes.

"You won't hurt me," I say quietly but surely.

Clegane's expressions alters for a flicker of an instant before his fingers release me and his knees remove themselves from my legs. He kneels in front of me and helps me pull myself up into a seated position. Then he reaches over and grabs my sword.

"Thanks," I mumble as he hands it to me and I stick it back into its sheath.

He grunts and rises to his feet before turning and exiting the woods, leaving me seated on the ground. I think he's gone until I hear his voice shout out: "The tournament starts soon. I'm sure your presence is required."

I sigh and push myself up onto my feet. I wince from the piercing pain in my wrists and look down to see blue marks already forming.

"I know I'm a girl," I mumble to myself, "but that doesn't mean I'm a lady. And it doesn't mean I'm weak."

I close my eyes and turn my face up to the sky letting the sung glow behind my closed eyelids.

"I am me…. I am me… I am me…"

I slip my way into the tournament area only to be thrown and jostled about and unable to reach the seated area for honored guests where I can see Sansa and the Septon with Arya seated between them. Ned is nowhere in sight – as expected – but not that I care. I don't really want to see him yet.

I may understand my own situation as a woman, but the fact that Ned spoke to me as though I was nothing but a servant for him to order around still aggravates me. That what he says is law. I am not his child. I have the freedom to make my own decisions in life. I thought he understood that.

I wasn't paying attention to where my feet were landing and my boot stomped down on the heel of a drunken man.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he slurred spinning around, nearly knocking his bottle into my head.

"My apologies sir," I nod before moving on.

"Hey!" A hand reaches out and grabs around my forearm tugging me back around to face the man. His breath is sour in my face as he says, "You're a pretty thing aint ya? Why don't you come along with me?" He tries to pull me away but I quickly and easily tug my arm from his grip, grab his wrist and twist his arm behind his back. He yelps in pain.

"Lay a hand on me again and I'll break your wrist."

"Well said," A voice behind me chines. "Although, I'd rather break his neck."

I release the mans arm and he tumbles to his knees. Joffrey struts up beside me.

"Do you know who this is?" he says indicating to me. The man shakes his head, cradling his arm in his lap. "This is a royal guest and a personal friend of mine."

I gag a little.

"Lay a hand on her again and I'll remove it."

The drunk whimpers and scurry's off quickly.

"Are you alright?" Joffrey asks turning to me.

I grunt and roll my eyes.

"Your wrists."

I remember the bruising forming on my arms and shift my attention onto the crown prince in fear. There is a bloodlust in his eyes as he looks down and my swollen, purple skin.

"Dog!" he snarls and I hear the clink of metal to my left. I turn to see Clegane coming closer as Joffrey demands, "Go remove that drunks hands and bring them to me."

Clegane nods and I jump in front of him before he can go after the man.

"Move," he whispers.

"Only if you promise you won't hurt him."

"It is a command from…"

"_Just because we are commanded to do things doesn't mean that we must do them_."

I can see the hesitation in his eyes at my words, but it is rapidly diminished by the golden haired boys shout.

"Get going dog! Or I'll take your hands as well."

I plead with Clegane silently but he shoves past me and storms off in the direction of the drunkard.

"Come," Joffrey's voice speaks from behind me. I turn around and his hand is help out to me.

I ignore it and move past him, forcing my way through the crowd and towards my seat.

"There you are Eliza," Septon cries upon seeing me. "I told you to arrive here on time."

"Lord Stark hasn't arrived yet," I mumble.

"Lord Stark has business to attend to."

"So he can miss his own tournament," I mumble, this time quietly enough so that her old ears can't hear.

I slouch down in my seat and cross my arms over my chest. The image of Clegane chopping off that poor man's hands painted throughout my mind.

I hear Sansa sigh beside me. When I turn to look at her I see her shoulders slouched and dark circles are under her eyes. She looks very unlady like. Very tired. I'm about to open my mouth and say something to her when she turns around in her seat to look back at the royal seated area. I look back as well.

The king is seated in a large chair with the crown placed atop his head – I believe this is the first time I've ever seen him wear it – and a horn of liquor in his hand, of course. The queen sits in a chair off to the side looking more bored than anyone else present, and Joffrey has just taken his seat beside her.

He's staring directly in our direction with a cold look on his face. At first I think it is directed at me but then I realize that his eyes are fixed on Sansa. She smiles feebly and when he notices he turns his head away and toward the dirted area where the tournament with occur.

She faces forward once more with an even more defeated look upon her face. Her shoulders slump lower as though another heavy weight has landed on them. I place my hand on her intertwined fingers and she shifts them so that he can grab them herself.

"Lover's quarrel?" A voice chirps to my right and both Sansa and I turn to find the source of the voice. It's Petyr Baylish.

"I'm sorry do I?" Sansa questions the lanky man.

"Sansa this is Lord Baylish," I reply flatly.

"An old friend of the family," he says with a smile. Yea, from what I saw he doesn't seem like an old friend of Ned's.

He shifts his position till he's standing before me.

"May I?" he asks, indicating to the bench. I hold my seat firmly so that I remain beside Sansa. His presence has made a protective impulse come over me.

"Eliza," Septon's voice shouts over Arya's head. She tilts her head indicating for me to move over and I reluctantly do so.

Lord Baylish smiles triumphantly as he sits beside Sansa, purposely placing nearly a foot of space between himself and her so that I have barley and inch of room left on the bench. Granted I'm grateful he's keeping his distance from the girl.

"I knew your mother a long, long time ago," he says to Sansa.

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?"Arya quickly questions, much like her usual self. Always curious. And much like her usual self, Sansa cries out in anger at her younger sister.

"No it's quite alright," Baylish says before addressing her question. "When I was a child I was very small, and I come from a little spit of land called The Fingers. So you see? It's an exceedingly clever nick name."

"I've been sitting here for days!" The King cries loudly, stomping to his feet drawing our parties, as well as the rest of the gathers attention, onto him. "Start the damn joust before I piss myself!" I grumbles, wobbling his drunken way back to his chair. No sooner does his arse land into the chair does the queen rise from hers and she exits.

As she makes her way down the stairs the crinkle of armor moves aside for her, Sandor's armor. As the tournament begins before me my attention is drawn to my back, where Clegane is making his way toward the crown prince.

"Show them to me," the boy demands as soon as the man stands before him.

"I regret My Lord to say that I lost him."

What?

"Whatever," the boy snarls. "The drunken fool will probably rot all on his own in these disgusting streets. Get out of my sight." He waves Clegane off and the armored man moves back and stands behind the young prince.

He looks out towards the jousting area, however he must notice my eyes on his for his attention shifts to me.

I smile and mouth 'thank you'.

I grunts and returns his gaze back to the joust.

"God's. Who's that?" Sansa's voice pulls my attention onto the joust at hand. I turn to instantly see what she is referring to. An armored man is on horseback trotting through the jousting area. A large man. Very large. Large enough to the point where I could call him a giant rather than a man.

"Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him The Mountain," Lord Baylish informs us as the knight brings his horse beside his opponents before our seating area.

Wait. Did he say Clegane?

"The Hound's older brother," he adds, clarifying my suspicions.

The Mountain flips his helmets flap open to reveal his face and I nearly jump in my seat. I expected his face to be as dark expressioned as Sandors, but I assumed his eyes would be as soft as Sandors as well. They aren't. They are dark, and cold, and… empty.

I'm in such shock I barley register anything until the king bellows, "Yes, yes! Enough of the blood pomp! Have at it!"

Both knights proceed to their designated sides and take their lances. A horn sounds and the joust begins.

Each man charges at full speed along the fence, their weapon pointed in the direction of their opponent. As they close in on each other the crowd roars, but as they pass one another without a hit a disappointed cry resonated throughout the crowd. Both men bring their horses to a stop and reposition for another go.

This time the charge is faster for both parties and their lances positioned more securely than before. They are only a few feet apart when I get this sinking feeling that something's wrong, and I was right. The Mountain's land connects first, but it doesn't connect to the other mans shield, or armor, it pierces between his helmet and his chainmail directly into his neck.

Sansa's piercing cry cuts through the air and the crowd gasps.

Everyone rises onto their feet as the knights body tumbles from his horse into the dirt right before the royal seating area. Only a few feet from us.

The young man's helmet is flipped up so that his agonizing pain is clearly visible on his face, as well as the foot long chunk of wood protruding from his neck. Blood oozes out from the crevices between his armor and chin and then starts spurting from his mouth as well. His legs flail and his free hand claws at his neck seeking air. He's only on the ground for a few seconds before his body convulses and then goes completely still; dead.

Two men come over and drag his body from the arena as The Mountain triumphantly trots through the bloody dirt.

I quickly glance over at the girls to make sure they're alright. Araya isn't really phased by it, however Sansa's expression is pained and her body is rigid. I open my mouth to comfort her but Lord Baylish's slithery voice speaks before mine.

"Not what you were expecting was it?"

Sansa doesn't respond and I see Pyter's body slide closer to her so that the foots distance previously between them is now reduced to merely an inch. I clench my jaw and am about to yank him back away from her when he says something that catches my ear:

"Has anyone ever told you the story of The Mountain and The Hound?"

Both Pyter's and Sansa's heads spin round to look at Sandor.

"A lovely little tale of brotherly love," Pyter adds in a whispered voice.

As he whispers the tale into Sansa's ear I strain mine to hear.

"The Hound was just a pup, six years old, maybe. Gregor a few years older. Already a big lad, already getting a bit of a _reputation_. Some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence. One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire. Gregor's toy; a wooden knight. Gregor never said a word. He just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there, while the boy screamed. While his face melted."

A tightening pain filled my chest with each word and when the story was done I couldn't stop myself from looking back at Sandor. At the burns on his face that have scared him since he was a child. I don't think I've ever felt this much pain for someone else before. This much hurt. The pain he must feel every day when he looks into his reflection or someone stares at the mangled side of his face without seeing the man underneath. All because he wanted to play with a toy as a child.

"Not many people know that story," Lord Baylish says and I turn my torso back towards the arena.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise," Sansa says.

"No please don't," Pyter's voice drips with false sympathy. "If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I'm afraid all the knights in King's Landing would not be able to save you."

He finally leans away from her and presses his side into mine. When our bodies touch I think he recalls that I've been present there the entire time.

"I'm sure you can keep this secret Eliza," he smiles wickedly. "After all, you keep so many secrets yourself."

My jaw tightens and my fists clench. I glare at him with dark, deadly eyes but he keeps looking back on me with that cheeky, weasel-like wide grin.

"Enjoy the court," he says before rising from his seat and exiting the seating area.

The Tournament ended with the death of Ser Hugh and will be continued tomorrow. I brought the girls back and sent them off to bed. I then attempted to silently make my way past Ned's study where the flicker of a flame danced through the open door and to my own room. However, Ned was waiting for me.

"Eliza," he calls. "Please come in here."

I purse my lips and contemplate ignoring him and continuing my way to my room, however four years' worth of familial affection towards the man calling out my name pushes me into the room. I creep into the quiet study, my body language speaking volumes for my abhorrence of my presence in the room. He sits at his desk with the chronology book laying open before him. His face looks tired and his body is slumped in his chair.

Not wanting to look at his disheveled appearance I make my way over to the window and stare down at the grounds below. The sun has set and the streets are deserted except for a few stray workers finishing up their jobs.

"Eliza, please. Speak with me," Ned's voice flitters over to my ears.

I ignore him and continue to stare out the window.

A few minutes go by as I count the stars where silence is the only company happily kept in the room. Until Ned speaks once again.

"Eliza," his tone is stern and reprimanding, like when he talks Bran down from doing something wrong. This causes me to finally turn away from the widow and look Ned straight in the face.

"Don't you dare speak to me like a reprimanding father Ned," I growl. "You are not my father!"

I regret the words the instant I say them but I'm too proud to take them back.

I can see the pain my words have left on Ned's features as his face falls even more and a sadness wells up in his eyes.

He presses his lips together as he looks on me. "No," he says drearily. "I am not your father Eliza, but ever since you've come into our lives I have always thought of you as my daughter. I have only ever wanted to protect you and watch out for you as you have done for both me and my children. It is that strong desire to take care of you that made me say those things earlier."

I sigh and push away from the window to stand in front of Ned's desk.

"You are the only father I have ever known Ned, and I know that you have only ever wanted to look out for me, but you can't control me," I place my hand on his and we lock eyes. "Because you are not me. You do not decide my life for me, I do. I always have."

"I know you have, but things aren't the same now that we're in The South," Ned counters, clutching my hand in his. "Back home it was easier for you to make your own choices and have the freedom to decide despite your rank and gender. Here it is different."

"I know that, but I will not change who I am to fit in here. I will not resign myself to the ways society has told me I must act, because if I did that I would not be staying true to myself. That is a lesson you have taught me."

Ned smiles sadly at me. "It is a dangerous lesson."

"But an honorable one," I reply. "One that you have raised all of your children to follow, and only now are you beginning to tell us that we cannot do that."

"Because now I have realized how dangerous it is." One of his hands releases mine and rubs at his temples. "Only when I saw that sword-trainer hacking away at my daughter did the horrors of the world you two have been thrown into start sinking into my bones. You two wish to enter into a life of hardship and misery that is more painful than you realize." His hand drops from his face and his eyes pierce me. "I have seen war and bloodshed Eliza. I have watched hundreds of men die fighting and when I watch you and Arya waiving your swords around I can't help but picture the two of you in the wars of my past. I can't help but picture you two bleeding… dying…" A tear plops from Ned's eyes to the top of my hand.

"Ned," I say, my voice a little shaken by the sight of his tear stained face. "You will not lose us. I promise."

"You cannot make those kinds of promises in this kind of world Eliza," he retaliates.

"Then I will promise you this," I move around his desk so that I'm at his side and I force him to rise out of his chair. I kneel in front of him and the shock on his face is almost laughable.

"I swear to you Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Hand of the King, that I, Eliza, will stay true to myself, as you have raised me to do, and you may disapprove of this lifestyle that I have chosen and lived my whole life. For I will wear trousers and perhaps even armor one day, and I will carry a sword proudly on my hip. I will not listen to what these southerners have to say, because I am a _lady_ of the North," I look up at him as I emphasize the word, and the shock on his face is even more evident than when I dropped to my knees. "I will follow you no matter what you decide to do Lord Stark, so long as you allow me to remain who I am even should you fear for what will become of me."

I let my head fall back down once more and wait for his response.

A minute goes by and then Ned's knees bend down and he raises my chin up to look at him.

"You," he says with a bright smile on his face, "are the proudest, most stubborn young lady I have ever met Eliza. And I couldn't be happier to have you as a daughter." Unexpectedly his arms encircle around me and he pulls me into a tight embrace.

"I am so proud of you," he whispers into my ear.

I wrap my own arms around his neck and burry my face into his hair.

"Thank you for caring about me," I say. "And for being able to understand me and let me be me."


	12. The Second Day of the Hands Tournament

The Second Day of the Hands Tournament

My reluctance to attend today's continuation of the tournament was evident upon my face, however Septon instructed that I attend once again. Especially considering that Ned's presence was still highly questionable at his own tournament. Sansa also insisted that I attend with her so that she should not have to witness an event like yesterday's alone. The sight of the young knight dying in front of her was a little much for the young girl. Understandable, until then she had never known the sight of death nor blood. Ned shielded her too much from the world before bringing her into this accursed place.

I agreed to go so long as I could leave on my own time. Sansa, Arya, and the Septon had set out for the jousting arena a while ago. I decided to wander through the outlying tree line before taking my place beside them.

I can hear the shouts and cries of the crowd even from this distance. Some of the cries are cheerful, but most sound pained, and anguished. No doubt the Mountain has taken down every man that's come charging at him.

Sandor's face jumps into my mind's eye and I wince slightly at the remembrance of Lord Baelish's story. How could someone, a brother, do that? How can you hold a child's face into burning coals and feel nothing? Tears well up in my eyes at the idea.

"Shouldn't you be at the tourney?"

I jump around at the voice and tug out both my sword and my dagger, even though the instant I do there is no point. The question wasn't threatening and neither was the voice, surprising when you find it belongs to a Clegane.

"I could inquire the same of you Clegane," I say, re-sheathing my blades. "Don't you have a royal little brat to guard?"

"Aye that I do," he smirks. "And you have your own as well."

"Sansa is not a brat," I retort.

"Pampered, spoiled, simple minded, foolish in the ways of the world," he taps off on his fingers.

"Alright," I say, cutting his list much shorter than I'm sure it would be. "She isn't suited for this place. You and I both know this, and have very frequently discussed it. Leave it alone now."

"If you know it so bloody well then what the fuck is she still doing here?"

"You know I have no say in whether she stays or goes," I groan. "If I did, not only her, but every Stark would be back in Winterfell right now."

The two of us are slowly walk, weaving our way through the trees, keeping a relatively large distance between each other. Clegane's metal covered hand rattles against the trees he brushes past.

"What the fuck are you doing out here?" he asks, cutting the forests beautiful silence.

"I was commanded to attend the tourney again today, however I was given freedom to decide when my arrival shall be. So I am taking my time arriving," I smile cheekily and Clegane rolls his eyes.

"It looked like you were fucking crying when I showed up," he grumbles. "Missing your beloved Snow are you?"

I can't help it, I burst out laughing. I'm laughing so hard my sides begin to ache and I bend forward to try and relieve the pressure on my stomach. Clegane stands stunned to my left, gaping at me; his eyes wide and his mouth slightly hung open.

"What the fuck is so funny?" he finally cries.

I take in a few deep breaths and try to calm down enough to speak. Between wheezes I squeeze out, "The thought," wheeze, "that I could ever," wheeze, "cry over a man," wheeze, "I can't take it." I burst into another fit of laughter and lean against a tree so that I don't fall to the ground.

It takes quite some time, but finally I calm down and open my eyes. Clegane is standing only a foot or two away from me, his face mixed with confusion, rage, and curiosity.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" I say with a bright smile still stuck to my face.

"All that, just because I mentioned the Snow boy?"

"No," I say as another giggle slips from my lips; I swallow down the rest before I begin that painful event all over again. I push off from the trunk and resume our slow walk towards the tournament. "All of 'that' occurred because you actually thought me foolish enough to cry over a man. Do you really think me so weak?"

"You love him."

His bluntness surprises me and I turn to look at him. His face is empty, emotionless, but his eyes scream with a burning curiosity.

"_Loved_", I correct him before turning my head and resuming our walk. "I loved Jon, yes, but now I have put him behind me. He has joined the Night's Watch, and I may never see him again. I have been through too much in my life for Jon Snow to ruin it by not returning the affections I had for him. He is now my brother, and only my brother."

"Is it so easy for you to throw away people you love?"

I stop abruptly and turn causing Clegane to stop only inches behind me. I have to look up to see his face.

"No," I respond. "It is not easy to throw away anyone, but I have had too many people unwillingly taken from me to be heartbroken by those that are still here. I loved Jon as more than a brother, but he never shared the same affections for me. He made that abundantly clear when he decided to join the Watch, but I haven't lost him. I traded one form of love for another. That is better than losing him all together."

"How many people have you lost?"

"Enough," is the only answer I can come up with.

This entire conversation has thrown me for a loop. I have never thought I'd hear these kinds of questions come from Clegane's own mouth. These questions are personal, real, and contain some of my deepest secrets. I feel an anger beginning to burn within the pit of my stomach.

"What do you want Clegane?" I growl, the anger rising inside of me.

Clegane takes a step away from me, making the distance between us a foot larger.

"I don't want anything you little bitch."

"Then stop asking me so many questions," I glare at him, knowing I'm going to regret what I'm about to say: "Or I may start asking a few of my own." As I say this I lock my vision solely onto the burned side of his face.

Sandor's face quickly contorts with rage and he knocks his hair to cover the side of his distorted face.

"Watch yourself girl," he snarls.

"Watch yourself," I bark back.

I can't bring myself to call him Hound, it just feels so degrading. Even with the rage I have brewing inside of me, I won't do that.

"I have a tourney to attend," I say with a slight bow before turning on my heels and marching in the crowds roaring direction. Behind me I hear the click of metal banging against trees.

When I arrive at the arena I am surprised to find Ned seated beside his eldest daughter. Upon seeing me he waves me down and indicates to the empty spot on his left side. I scurry through the rows and plop down beside him. I glance over my shoulder discreetly to see Clegane take his stance beside the crown prince. I'm about to turn my head back around when my eye's lock with the blondes. He stares at me with sharp eyes, and then a grin curls onto his lips. The expression makes me queasy and I turn back around.

When I do the Mountain is straddled across his horse, nodding towards the royal family.

I can't bring myself to look at him so instead I turn to face Ned, Sansa, Septon, and…

"Where's Arya?" I ask, leaning to try and see past Septon in case the small girl is hiding behind her.

"At her dancing lessons," Sansa says flatly.

I sigh and lean back into my seat when Sansa's head turns my way and I see a brightness appear in her eyes. A smile stretches across her face as the sound of horses hooves grow closer.

"The knight of the flowers," she says and approaching us is a young man, most likely only a year or so older than myself. He is trotting towards us on a bright white steed, in shimmering thorn-embroidered armor, his long curly brown hair brushing his shoulders in the breeze, and in his hand is a single red rose. He rides forward until he is right before us. Leaning forward he hands Sansa the rose; his favor for the tourney. Sansa takes it gladly and thanks him. No doubt she is envisioning him as the knight in every song and story she has ever heard.

The boy rides up beside the Mountain and bows elegantly before the two opponents ride off in their separate directions to begin the joust. I can't help but notice as they do that The Mountains horse is acting strangely. She's jolting and twisting beneath his ridged body hardly obeying the reins. Something seems off.

"Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," Sansa's plea pulls my attention away from the black stallion and onto Sansa who has interlocked her arm with Ned's. Fear is plastered across her face as she gazes at the flowery knight on our left.

Ned attempts to comfort her, slightly confused at her behavior. No doubt he doesn't sense her admiration for the 'handsome' knight of the flowers, being a male and all.

"I can't watch," she whimpers, tugging her father closer till she's practically hidden behind his shoulder.

Behind me I hear Lord Baelish betting with, who I believe to be the brother of Robert Baratheon. I ignore their childish play to be welcome by Sansa's whimpering.

"He's going to die," she cries into her father's shoulder.

"Ser Loras rides well," Ned replies, and I pray it's true because I don't think Sansa can stand watching the living version of all her fantasies die right in front of her. It would destroy what little is left of her childhood.

A horn sounds and the two opponents charge.

I watch closely and the closer the two get, the more wildly Ser Gregors stallion moves. When they are just nearly about to strike I see her dark hooves give way beneath her before Ser Loras's lance even strikes Ser Gregors shield, forcing him to the ground.

The crowd cheers loudly and I hear a few individuals behind me rise to their feet and applaud.

The Mountain had landed on top of the gate and it was crushed beneath him as he fell. He rolls around on the ground, his armor holding him down as he fights to rise to his feet.

All eyes are on Ser Loras as he dismounts and cheerfully bows to the audience and the royal seating area, but my eyes are fixed on The Mountain.

When he finally manages to get back on his feet he chucks his helmet onto the ground and demands his squire to bring his sword. The small man runs up with a blade nearly his height. Gregor hands the boy the reigns of his stallion before unsheathing the blade and I know what is coming before anyone else even registers what is occurring behind the shimmering tourney winner.

The Mountain raises his swords up into the air and it comes crashing down on his stallions neck. She lets out a bone shattering whine as the blade slices halfway through her neck. The sound finally draws the crowds attention onto the snarling man who charges towards Ser Loras with his bloodied blade raised in the air.

Ser Loras is quick and pulls his shield up before the sword slices through his own neck, but he is no match for the Mountains strength. The blow forces him from his horse and to the ground. His helmet flies off his head and all he has for protection is his small two foot shield. The Mountain quickly moves above the defenseless young man and starts slamming his sword down onto the tiny shield like a hammer on a nail.

I rise to my feet on instincts, ready to jump the steps and into the arena to fight him off when someone shoves me aside and steals my idea. But it's not just anybody, it's Sandor.

"Leave him be!" Sandor cries out rising his sword into the air.

The two Clegane's swords meet with a clang and the entire crowd gasps.

Sandor grunts from the weight and pushes his brother back with all his strength causing him to stumble backwards himself. Sandor positions himself between his brother and Loras before raising his sword up again.

They charge and the only sound I can hear is my heart and ringing metal.

Each blow from Gregor has twice the strength of Sandor's blows and he grunts under the weight and power.

My fingers tighten around my hilt and my feet are itching to jump the fence and help him.

I keep picturing the young man with a chunk of wood sticking out from his throat.

I'm lunging forward, just about to jump in as I see Sandor's knees shaking beneath him when I hear a shout from behind me.

"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"

Instantly the fighting stops. Sandor falls to one knee, the Mountain swings his sword to a stop at his side, and my hand slips from my hilt.

Ser Gregor flings his sword into the dirt and quickly storms off. The King shouts for the guards to let him pass, most likely trying to prevent any more bloodshed. The crowd parts for him like the Grass Sea parts for a Khalasar.

The crowd relaxes and those around me resume their seated positions, however I am still frozen in place. All eyes are on Sandor as he rises back to his feet.

"I owe you my life Ser," Ser Loras says coming up beside him.

"I'm no Ser," Sandor growls.

Without a seconds thought Ser Loras takes Sandors hand in his and hoists it into the air. The crowd roars and applauds, but I'm still frozen, staring at the scarred man, my heart still thundering in my chest.

Everyone around me rises up from their seats and cheers. My hands remain at my sides.

It's only when Sandor's eyes lock with mine that the ice around me melts. I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding, and feel my body tremble.

I spin around and push my way through the crowd. I run, and keep running until I'm once more standing within the shadow of trees I had been before the tournament. I lean up against a tree and wrap my arms around my torso trying to stop their trembling.

I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder and I spin around with my dagger in hand; even if it is a trembling hand. Its tip is tapping against Sandor's chest plate with a tiny rhythm conducted by my shacking. I stare up at him and he looks down on me bewildered.

"What the fucks the matter with you?" he finally asks.

I let out a shaking breath and release my grip on the dagger, causing it to plop on the ground.

"Me?" I bellow. "What the fuck is the matter with you?" I shove him with all my might but he doesn't move an inch. "What the fuck were you doing jumping into that fight? After everything he's done to you? Do you really want him to hurt you again?"

I freeze in place when I realize what I've done. This is worse than what I said earlier, much, _much_, worse. Earlier I may have inquired to my knowledge, but now I just flat out told him that I know what happened to his face.

I stare down at my feet. It's not that I'm afraid to look up at him, but that I respect him too much to do so.

"How the fuck did you find out?"

"I overheard."

An awkward silence accompanies my reply.

"Look at me."

I keep my head down.

"Look at me!"

My head slowly rises up until our eyes meet.

"I don't give a fuck if you know about me and my bloody past. Most people already do. What I do give a fuck about is if you let it change your opinion of me. I'm a killer. Just like any other man and if you piss me off I will break your pretty little fingers," he grasps my chin and leans down so that I can smell the tint of wine on his breath. "Don't you fucking forget that little girl."

I smirk and chuckle, surprising him.

"Don't forget that I'm not a little girl."

There's a tiny clink as my carving knife taps against his hip, right above a break in the armor. So tiny that only a blade as small as this can get through.

"There's that northern bitch I met back at Winterfell."

And for the first time, I see Sandor genuinely smile.


	13. Loyal Men's Betrayals

Loyal Men's Betrayals

"Arya's running around the castle chasing cats," I chuckle.

"Another 'Syrio said' I presume," Ned replies as I sit on the edge of his desk.

"I would say so," I reply, peeking on his desk where the house chronicles sits open. "How's the reading coming?"

"So far the book has given me no answers, but I found something else that Jon was looking into."

"What would that be?" I ask, flipping through the book, admiring the long, long line of some unknown house with a tiny blue jay as its sigil.

"Robert's bastards."

My attention flies up to Ned's face as the page I was holding flutters back to its place in the book.

Since the moment I met King Robert I assumed there must have been some Baratheon bastards roaming around the Seven Kingdoms. But enough to draw the attention of the Hand of the King?

"How many?"

"Twelve in King's Landing alone."

My mouth drops.

"I met a few," Ned says, turning towards his window. "The eldest was a boy working at the smiths. Looked just like Robert the day he was crowned. His spitting image staring back at me. The rest are still too young to tell, but if they wind up anything like that Gendry fellow, they may be in for some trouble." He turns back in my direction, every inch of him looking tired and worn.

I walk around till I'm standing beside Ned. "Have you had any news from Winterfell?" I ask somberly.

"No," Ned says shaking his head.

"What about Lady Stark?"

"No," Ned says again. "Nothing." His hand tightens around the corners of the Chronicle. I lay my fingers on his and his grip loosens.

"That's good," I say comfortingly. "No news, means nothing bad has happened."

"I suppose you're right."

"Aren't I always My Lord," I smirk.

Ned chuckles. He flips his hand over and wraps his fingers around mine. "Aye, that you are."

Our happy moment is interrupted by a tapping on the door. We both look up to find a rounded, bald man standing in the doorway beside Jory. He's in flowing green robes lined with fur. From his appearance I'd assume he is a man of court, but I haven't seen him before.

"Come in Lord Varys," Ned motions for the man to enter the room as he lets go of my hand.

"Good day My Lord," he says with a bow after entering the room. He then surprisingly turns his attention onto me and smiles brightly. "I'm afraid we haven't had the pleasure of being introduced yet. I am Lord Varys, Master of Whispers," he says with another low bow. I return one of my own.

"You must be the Lady Eliza, although you hate being called such."

I blanch at his knowledge, for not until this moment have I even laid eyes on him, yet somehow he knows something so personal about me.

"I see you know little of my Eliza," the man says cheerfully, tucking his hands into the fur lining of his sleeves. "They call me The Spider. It is my job to know everything about everyone and everything. Although I must say, you are the strangest puzzle I've ever had. Until your arrival in Winterfell, even I had no idea of your existence. Which is very surprising."

I don't like the way he's looking at me. His words say one thing, but his eyes say another. It's almost as if he's trying to read me just by the flesh on my bones.

I'm about to tell him to knock it off when he's focus shifts back to Ned.

"How is your son My Lord?" Varys's asks as he makes his way towards one of the windows.

"He'll never walk again," Ned says sadly as Varys's closes the shutters on the window he's approached.

"But his mind is sound?" the man inquires, making his way to another window. My eyes follow every step he takes quizzically.

"So they say."

Now Ned's voice mimics my thoughts: quizzical and skeptical. Both our focuses are locked on the green man's figure as he clicks the window closed.

"A blessing then," he says. Ned and I give each other a look and my hand rests on my hip besides my dagger.

"I too suffered a mutilation myself," he says, this time making his way towards the door. He peeks out and waves at Jory before closing it with a click. My hand is now on my dagger.

"Some doors close forever," he says making his way back towards us. "Others lead to unexpected places. May I?" he asks indicating to the chair in front of Ned's desk. Ned nods his head just as Lord Varys takes his seat.

No sooner does he sit down does the atmosphere in the room shift to something deadly serious.

"If the wrong ears heard what I'm about to tell you off comes my head," Varys says boldly. "And who would morn poor Varys then? North or South they sing no songs for spiders. But there are things you must know." He turns his attention to me. "Both of you."

I nod slightly before he continues.

"You are the king's hand," he says returning his grave eyes back onto Ned. "And the King is a fool. Your friend I know, but a fool. And doomed unless you save him."

Ned's body has gone rigid and I can see the fury burning in his eyes.

"I've been in the capitol a month," he snarls. "Why have you waited so long to tell me this?"

"I didn't trust you," Varys replies calmly, but there is a harshness beneath his tone.

"So why do you trust me now?"

"The queen is not the only one who has been watching you closely," Varys says, revealing that he has been spying on us since the first moment we stepped foot in Kings Landing. "There are few men of honor in the capitol," he continues. "You are one of them. I would like to believe I am another. As strange as that may seem."

"What sort of doom does the King face?" I ask, adding my voice into the conversation.

Varys's lips quirk up when he looks at me. "The same sort as Jon Arryn."

My head spins to look at Ned who's in shock from what he's just heard. He can't say a word, so I ask what I'm sure he must be thinking:

"Poison?"

Lord Varys nods. "The Tears of Lyss, they call it. A rare and costly thing. As clear and tasteless as water. It leaves no trace."

I can't help but wonder how he knows this is the poison that killed Lord Arryn.

Ned still hasn't said anything but he pushes his chair back and stomps towards the balcony archway. He rubs his temples, the exhaustion reemerging on his face that I had only just removed.

"Who gave it to him?" he finally speaks again.

"Some dear friend no doubt. But which one? There were many," Varys replies. "Lord Arryn was a kind and trusting man."

I watch as Ned's had falls and his shoulders arch in both pain and aggravation at not hearing the name of the person that murdered the closest thing he had to a father. I turn my attention back on the Spider, my heated glare commanding him to give Ned some hope.

"There was one boy," Varys pipes up. "All he had he owed to Jon Arryn."

"The squire? Ser Hugh?" Ned questions turning back towards Varys.

"The young man who was killed during the tournament?" I inquire.

"Aye," Varys says nodding. "A pity what happened to him."

His message is clear. Ser Hugh was meant to die in the tournament. Something is being covered up.

"Just when his life seemed to be going so nicely," Varys chirps.

"If Ser Hugh poisoned him, who paid Ser Hugh?" Ned questions.

Varys raises his hands in the air, defeated by the question. "Someone who could afford it."

"Jon was a man of peace," Ned growls. "He was hand for seventeen years. Seventeen good years! Why did he kill him?"

I can hear the hurt welling up in Ned's voice. Knowing now that it truly was murder, but not being able to do anything about it is torturing him.

Varys looks Ned dead in the eyes.

"He started asking questions."

I look from Varys to Ned, then down to the Chronical sitting on the table. When I look back up at Varys I know that my line of thinking is correct.

"I must be off," Varys says surprisingly, rising from his seat. "I have some other business I must attend to. Please, My Lord, put some thought into the things I have said."

"Thank you, Lord Varys," Ned sighs, plopping back down into his chair.

"Of course My Lord. What else are spiders for?" He bows and exits the room, leaving the door open.

Jory waits for Varys to be out of eyesight before entering the room.

"Is everything alright My Lord?"

"Yes," I respond knowing Ned most likely doesn't have the ability to do so himself.

Jory nods to me but I can sense something amiss.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's Arya."

Ned's head perks up and he nearly jumps from his seat.

"What's happened?" he asked in a rushed voice.

"She's gone missing My Lord."

"You know I had half my guard out searching for you!" Ned cries.

Arya leans up against me. She's not used to hearing Ned raise his voice. Neither am I. I know that his agitation is more due to the fact that he now knows about a murderer running around Kings Landing killing off the Kings Hands. He's frightened that they'll use one of the girls to get at him.

"You promised me this would stop!" he cries.

"They said they were going to kill you."

Both Ned and I blanch at her declaration.

I remove myself from her side and kneel before her. I wrap my hands around her shoulders and look up at her pleadingly. "Who did?"

"I didn't see them," she says. "But I think one was fat!"

"Oh Arya," Ned groans rubbing his temples again. I rise up to my feet, walk beside him, and place my hand on his shoulder to try and relieve some of his stress.

"I'm not lying!" Arya cries out defending her words. "They said you found the bastard, and the wolves are fighting the lions, and the savage! Something about the savage." With every word both mine and Ned's attention is caught. There is no way Arya can know about any of this. Even I don't know about some of it. Who's the savage?

"Where did you hear this?" Ned asks.

"In the dungeons. Near the dragons skulls."

"What were you doing in the dungeons?" Ned asks, yet the only thing I can think is: they didn't destroy the dragon skulls?

Arya nips at her lip and stares down at her toes until she finally mumbles, "Chasing a cat."

Ned sighs and I smirk as a knock sounds on the door. Before I even have a chance to call for them to enter, they already are.

"Pardon My Lord," Jory says popping through the crack. "There's a Knights Watchman here begging a word. Says it's urgent." Jory steps aside and a scruffy man trots in all in black.

Ned rises from his chair and the two of us move in front of the desk. I step aside as Ned stands next to Arya, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"A name friend?" Ned inquires.

"Yoren, if it please," the Watchman replies. He nods towards Arya and says, "This must be your son. He has the look."

"I'm a girl!" Arya cries and both Ned and I chuckle under our breath.

"Did Benjin send you?" Ned asks, squeezing Arya's shoulder comfortingly.

"No one sent me My Lord," he responds. "I'm here to find men for the Wall. See if there's any scum in the dungeons that might be fit for service."

"Ah," Ned says. "I'll find some recruits for you." I hear the disappointment in his tone. No doubt he had hoped to have news of his brother, perhaps even Jon.

"Thank you My Lord, but that's not why I disturb you now."

The look he gives Ned is far more serious than the ones Varys had given us earlier. Worry begins welling up inside me at the thought that he has some bad news from Winterfell. The look on Ned's face reflects my own feelings.

"Your brother Benjin," Yoren says in defense, mistaking our expressions of dread for that of mistrust. "His blood runs black, makes him as much my brother as yours. It's for his sake I rode here so hard I damn near killed my horse. There are others riding too. The whole city will know by tomorrow."

I don't like the sound of this.

"Know what?" Ned asks, confused.

"Best said in private My Lord," the Watchmen says looking at me, Arya, and Jory.

Ned nods and kisses the top of Arya's head. "Go on," he says pushing her towards Jory and the door. "We'll talk more later."

I take a step towards the door and Ned's arm flings out to stop me.

"Stay."

I nod and resume my place beside him.

"I think it'd be wiser to remove the Lady from…"

"Eliza is staying," Ned says sternly and even a man dressed in black cannot argue with him.

The door clinks shut behind Arya and Jory.

The Watchman looks at me. "My Lord, I really think you should reconsider allowing…"

"I trust Eliza with my life, as well as the life of my family. Should something dire ever occur I would want her standing right beside me, and as it appears something dire has occurred, it seems fit that she should be here."

Yoren clears his throat and nods. "Aye My Lord," he says before looking up at me. "My apologies."

I accept with a nod.

"Well?" Ned questions, wanting to know what was so important the man rushed here he nearly killed his horse.

"It's about your wife My Lord," Yoren replies and my heart skips a beat.

"Is she alright?" I'm so quick to ask I forget my formalities and don't address Catelyn by her title.

"Aye," Yoren replies. "She's alright, for now. But she's done something exceedingly foolish."

"What?" Ned queries.

"She's taken the imp."

"Why would Catelyn take Tyrion Lannister?" I repeat the question for the fifth time since our meeting with Yoren. "It doesn't make any sense. She'd never do something so foolish and rash."

"I don't know Eliza," Ned replies as we stomp our way through the courtyard. "But for whatever reason she's decided to do this, it must be a good one."

I sigh. "The only possible excuse I can come up with for this rashness is that he must have done something. But what in the Seven Hells could a dwarf have done? We've met Lord Tyrion! He really isn't much besides a drunk and a lecher."

"He's also clever," Ned protests. "Perhaps clever enough to attempt something just as rash."

I stop when I undertand what Lord Stark is implying.

"My Lord, I dislike the Lannisters more than you will ever know, but assassination doesn't seem like a thing he would do."

"Can you think of a better reason why Cat would do something so rash?"

He's right. Catelyn has always put her family first. If she was to do something this reckless, it would have to be because of the family. But I just can't see Tyrion attempting to murder a young boy, even if he is a Lannister. I just can't see it.

"Lord Stark!" a voice cries, interrupting Ned's and my conversation.

It's the young man who had greeted us upon our arrival at Kings Landing.

"Your presence has been requested at the small council chamber. A meeting has been called," he says coming before us.

"I need to see the King first," Ned says making his way past the boy.

"The King is at the small council My Lord. He has summoned you."

Ned and I eye one another. They've already had word? So soon?

"Is it about my wife?" Ned's voice comes out in a rush.

The boy looks at him bewildered. "No My Lord."

Weights lift off of both Ned's and my shoulders at the words. There's still time. Thank the Gods.

"I believe it concerns Daenerys Targaryen."

The sound of the name makes me jump. Targaryen?

Ned sighs. "Alright. I'll go now." He turns in the direction of the great hall and I quickly rush after him.

"Lord Stark!" I cry. "Daenerys? Is that who I think it is?"

"I would suppose so," Ned replies in a huff. "Bran has no doubt told you the stories of the Targaryen's."

"He didn't need to My Lord," I reply, quickening my pace to keep up with him. "Everyone knows the tales of the Targaryen's, even me. I just, didn't know that a little girl was a matter for the small council."

"Only after her brother married her off to a Dothraki horse lord did it become an important matter."

I recall Arya's earlier mention of 'the savage' and find the connection between the two.

"What trouble could one girl cause all the way across the Narrow Sea?"

"I don't know yet, but if it's enough to get Robert into the Small Council it must be life threateningly important."

We have now entered into the great hall, and I know that as soon as we near the doors to the small council I will not be allowed to enter, but I'm still not finished with this conversation.

"Lord Stark," I cry. "You don't think, after all this time, that King Robert intends to harm her do you?"

"Robert has despised the Targaryen's since my sister went missing, but when those two children ran off across the Narrow Sea he never intended to go rushing after them. He never even intended for the destruction of the family line until he found out Lyanna died. He may seem harsh against them, but Robert is a kind man. He wouldn't kill pointlessly."

We are only a few steps from the council door and I am growing desperate.

"I know you believe that Ned, but he isn't the same man you knew all those years ago!"

Ned halts and flings around surprisingly causing me to crash into his chest.

"What?" he questions through his quickened breathing.

"I mean that he may not see them the same way he did when they were children. They are older now and he may see them as a threat. But they are still innocent children Ned. Remember that. Just because they are Targaryen's doesn't mean that they are bloodthirsty like their father was."

"Why do you care so much?" Ned inquires.

"Because I understand the pain of losing your entire family."

It's the first time I've mentioned my family in any way to Ned, to anyone really. I can see the shock in his eyes, just as I'm sure he can see the pleading in mine.

"Please Ned," I beg. "Don't punish one person for the crimes of another. Be the voice of reason where reason is blinded by hatred and anger. That is why you are here."

Ned stares down at me, his expression unreadable. I stare up at him pleadingly, something I don't recall ever having done to him.

After a moments silence he drops his hand on my shoulder.

"I will do what is right, like I always have. Like I've always told you as well as my children to do. If an unjust murder is brought up in that room, I would have fought against it no matter what."

"I know you would My Lord," I bow my head.

Ned returns a nod and drops his hand from my shoulder. "Go back to the tower. I'll meet you there when this is done."

"Yes My Lord," I reply before he turns around and enters the Small Councils chambers.

I've only just arrived in Ned's office when he bursts through the door.

"What is it?" I cry out as he rushes towards his desk.

He starts pilling up papers and stacking boxes on his desk.

I move up beside him. "Ned," I inquire in a softer, more relaxed tone. "What happened?"

"You were right," he says, continuing to shove things in boxes. I move out of the way as he stands up and rushes over to a chest.

"About what?"

"Robert," he replies as he flings things into the chest. "He's not the same man I once knew."

"What happened in the meeting?"

"They want to kill her."

"Daenerys?"

"Yes," Ned finally stops scurrying around and looks at me. His eyes are mad and I notice that his chest no longer holds the emblem of the Kings Hand.

"Her and her unborn child."

My attention is drawn away from his chest and back to his face.

"What?"

Ned resumes his scurrying as I gape at him.

"I resumed my position as Hand. We're leaving."

"Ned… what…?"

Before I can come up with something to say Jory enters the room.

"I'll go ahead with my daughters," Ned decrees, not even noticing Jory's entrance. "Get them ready. Do it yourself Eliza. Don't ask anyone for help."

"Alright Ned," I say, and grab his franticly moving arm by the wrist. He ceases his scurrying and leans against the desk, taking in a deep breath for the first time since he's entered the room.

"My Lord," Jory speaks up from the doorway causing Ned to finally take notice of his presence.

"What is it Jory?"

"Lord Baelish is here to see you."

Without awaiting his approval to enter the weasel like man saunters into the room with that damned smirk across his face.

"His Grace went on about you some length after you took your leave," he says. "The word treason was mentioned."

I eye Jory, and the both of us position our hands close to our weaponed belts.

"What can I do for you?" Ned grumbles.

"When do you return to Winterfell?"

"Why would you care?" I pipe in.

Pyter eyes me with a sharp-toothed smile before turning back to Ned. "If you're still here come nightfall I'll take you to see the last person Jon Arryn spoke with before falling ill. If that sort of thing still interests you."

I can see the desire in Ned's eyes but thankfully his next words are: "I don't have the time."

"It won't take more than an hour, but as you please," the weasel says with a bow before heading towards the door.

I see Ned's fingers twitch against his desk and I lean in and whisper, "It's a trap My Lord. If treason has already been mentioned, and the news of Lord Tyrion is on its way the longer we stay here the more dangerous it will become."

Ned's fingers still twitch.

I soften my tone. "I know you want to know what happened to Lord Arryn Ned, but it isn't the right time."

"It's the only time," Ned sighs after a moment's contemplation.

He pushes off from his desk and grabs the sword sitting on top of an empty chest. I sigh and follow behind him as he exits the room to catch up with Lord Baelish.

"Round up all the men we have," Ned orders Jory. "Station them outside the girl's chambers. Who are your best two swords?"

"Hughward and Will," Jory replies.

"Find them and meet me at the stables," Ned commands before turning to me. "Eliza, come with me."

"Yes My Lord," I reply before taking my place beside him.

We follow closely behind Lord Baelish until we reach the stables and retrieve our horses. I mound my mare and Ned trots up beside her.

"You think this is foolish?" he asks.

"I think trusting a man like Lord Baelish is foolish."

"You're probably right."

"It's not too late to change your mind."

"I need to know Eliza," Ned looks at me with the sad eyes of a fatherless child.

"I know you do," I sigh. "I'm just worried about the consequences of your actions."

Since Lord Baelish was leading us I wasn't very shocked to find our destination to be a whore house. I was however surprised to find that the last person Jon Arryn ever met was a young girl, no more than sixteen years of age, with a newborn child in her arms. Another one of Robert's bastards.

"She looks like him. Don't she m'lord?" the red-haired girl says, bouncing the young boy in her arms. "She has his eyes. His black hair."

"Aye," Ned replies staring down at the tiny thing.

"Tell him when you see him m'lord, if it please you, tell him how beautiful she is," the girl smiles brightly down at her baby.

"I will," Ned says.

"And tell him I've been with no one else!" the girl cries, and the undying love she has for King Robert is unquestionable in her voice. "I swear it m'lord. By the old gods and new. I don't want no jewels or nothing. Just him. The King was always good to me."

"When Jon Arryn came to visit you," Ned asks, ignoring the young girls' plea, "what did he want?"

"He wasn't that sort of man m'lord," the girl replies immediately assuming Ned was inquiring as to whether he was looking for a girl or not. "He just wanted to know if the child was happy. Healthy."

Ned glances down at the rather chubby young child. "Looks healthy enough to me," he says.

He reaches out and grasps the tiny hand sticking out from the silk sheet.

"The girl shall want for nothing," he declares. The young girl smiles happily and wrocks the little girl in her arms.

Ned turns to leave and I follow close behind. We enter a room where Lord Baelish sits, a girl on his lap.

"Brothels make a much better investment than ships, I've found," he says sitting up. "Whores, rarely sink."

I can see the disgust clear as day on Ned's face. Just standing in here must make his honorable demeanor recoil.

I see Jory standing behind me and step back so I'm at his side.

"Lord Stark is disgusted to even stand in this place, yet you seem so calm," I smirk. "Have you been here before Jory?"

"Oh shut it Eliza," he says shoving me with his shoulder.

"What do you know of King Robert's bastards?" Ned asks Lord Baelish, pulling my attention back to them.

"Well," The weasel says, "he has more than you for a start."

"How many?"

"Does it matter?" Baelish questions. "If you fuck enough women, some of them will give you presents."

"And Jon Arryn tracked them all down. Why?" Ned asks.

"He was the Kings Hand," Baelish says. "Perhaps Robert wanted them looked after. He was overcome with fatherly love." A sarcastic smile is plastered across the bastards face. I have to look away or I might punch it and when I do I see one of the whores on the couch across from us playing with her breasts. I look beside me to see Jory staring at the woman. I roll my eyes and scoff.

"Come," Ned says, walking past us and I follow close behind.

It only takes me a moment to realize that Jory isn't following. When I look back he's still intently staring. Ned has also noticed for he calls out from behind me startling our friend back into reality.

"My Lord," he responds jumpily as Ned exits the room.

He comes up beside me and I chuckle. "You damned horny bastard," I say slapping him on the shoulder. "It's a long ride North. You'll have to go whoreless for a while my friend. Until you get back to your fiancé," I say with a wink.

"You say a single word to her and I swear to the old gods Eliza."

"I bet you do," I laugh as we exit this cursed establishment only to be greeted by a crowd of red Lannister guards, and riding up along with them is none other than Jamie Lannister.

"Fuck…" I whisper under my breath knowing that news has finally reached Kings Landing.

"Such a small pack of wolves," Jamie says dismounting from his horse, and it has never been more true. Only Ned, Jory, myself, and two guards, against what must be over twenty lions.

"Stay back Ser," Jory cries. "This is the Hand of the King."

"_Was_ the Hand of the King," Jamie corrects. "Now I'm not sure what he is. The wall is so very far away."

My grip tightens around my longsword and I rise up on the tips of my toes, ready to jump in.

"What's the meaning of this Lannister?" I hear Lord Baelish shout from behind me. He must have come out when he heard the racket.

"Get back inside," Jamie growls. "Where it's safe." He then turns his attention from behind me to beside me; to Ned.

"I'm looking for my brother," he says, his hand peacefully laying against the hilt of his sword. The sword that cut through the back of its own king and would most likely gladly cut through us. "You remember my brother don't you Lord Stark? Blonde hair, sharp tongue, short man." He then glances over to me. "Or perhaps you would, considering you had the privilege of having a private conversation with him."

"I remember him well," I reply flatly.

"It seems he had some trouble on the road," Jamie's voice drips with sarcasm. "You wouldn't know what happened to him would you?"

"He was taken at my command. To answer for his crimes," Ned's voice pipes in, pulling Jamie's attention off of me and onto him and I can see the sarcasm quickly shift into hatred.

Jamie tugs his sword free and everyone else does the same, save Ned, who I position myself in front of. Jory, the two guards and I stand in a small line facing and army of red-speared me and one of the greatest swordsman's in the seven kingdoms.

"My Lord!" Baelish cries pushing through Ned and I to stand between our two conflicting parties. When the spears threaten him, he backs up once more and decrees: "I'll bring the city watch" before running off.

"Come Stark," Jamie goats. "I'd rather you die sword in hand."

"If you threaten My Lord again…" I snarl just to be cut off by the damn blonde bastard.

"Threaten?" he questions. "As in; I'm going to open your Lord from balls to brains and see what Starks are made of?"

"You kill me, your brothers a dead man," Ned says from behind me.

Jamie smiles surprisingly, and says, "You're right." He leans over his shoulder and commands his men: "Take him alive. Kill his men and the bitch."

Not a second later spears fling into our guards' stomachs and the drop to the ground. I hear their bodies hit the same time I hear Ned unsheathe his sword.

Row by row, red armored men come at me. I fight them off without much difficulty but they are forcing me farther away from Ned. Out of the corner of my eye I try to watch out for him as well as Jory, but it is hard to do so and fight off ten men.

I cut down the last men coming at me and turn my attention in Ned's direction first. He's surrounded, but doing well. I look around to check on Jory and see him standing before Jamie Lannister. Is he a complete idiot?

"Jory!" I cry and start sprinting towards him but the fool has already risen his sword.

The Kingslayer's and Jory's blades meet. Jory pushes his weight forward in an attempt to knock him down but it fails and he just succeeds in pushing himself closer to the blonde swordsman. Without having time to even register its appearance, Jamie Lannister stabs Jory through the eye with a golden hilted dagger.

"JORY!"

My voice rings through the air and I hear all the clanging metal stop behind me. Jamie turns to face me before letting go of the dagger causing Jory's lifeless body to tumble onto the ground.

My mouth hangs open and my breathing is ragged. I look up from the ground to Jamie's smirking, Lannister face. I grit my teeth, tighten my grip on my sword, and charge.

Our swords clash and we come face to face with only iron separating us.

"Let's see if you can put up a better fight than your friend."

I audibly snarl and shove him back with the force of my blade. He staggers a little but doesn't fall. I'm pounding down on him again before he has the full chance to regain his footing, and I keep on pounding him with brute force. That was my mistake. I let my emotions take hold and wasn't thinking clearly. So I didn't see his guard come up beside me and slice my sword arm open at the center of my forearm.

I scream out in pain and my sword clatters to the ground. I kneel down and clutch my bloody arm to my chest, wincing from the stinging sensation spreading throughout my arm.

"Die," Jamie says above me and I wait for his sword to come crashing through my neck.

There's a loud clink above me and when I look up Ned's sword is hold back Jamie's.

"Are you alright?" Ned groans.

"Yes," I reply weakly.

"Move," Ned commands, and I quickly scurry from beneath their blades.

No sooner do I move, does the fight begin. The two of them start hacking away at one another as a circle of Lannister guards incase them. I half expect one of the guards to stick me while I'm down, but surprisingly none do.

I continue to watch and quickly notice Ned tiring. Jamie must be half his age; more strength, more stamina, more skill. It's too much for Ned to handle, or so I think. Ned begins beating Jamie down faster and hard and the young man can't keep up. They lock blades like Jamie and I had before and Ned steals my move: using his weight to force him back, Ned puts a good distance of space between the two of them. I'm almost ecstatic until I see the Lannister guard come up behind Ned and stick his spear through the back of his leg and out the front.

Ned lets out a small wail, drops his sword, and falls down onto his uninjured knee.

It's clear that that wasn't the way Jamie wanted to end the fight. He wanted to put his sword through Ned's head, and the guard had stopped him. Which results in Jamie knocking the guard unconscious with the hilt of his sword.

While he's distracted I shove myself onto my feet and scurry over beside Ned.

"Are you alright?" I ask, trying to secure his position so that the spear doesn't seep deeper into his leg.

"Yes." His voice is barely audibly through his heaving breaths. "Are you alright?"

"It's just a scratch," I say quickly.

"It won't be just a scratch when I'm done with you," Jamie says from above me, placing his sword against my throat.

"You kill her, and you might as well kill me," Ned groans through the pain so that Jamie can hear him. "If you want to see your brother alive, you best keep us alive."

The sword slowly drops away from my neck and I turn around to see Jamie resheath his sword and mount his horse.

"My brother Lord Stark," he snarls. "I want him back!"

With those words both Jamie and his damn guards ride off and I turn my full attention onto Ned.

I place my hands up against his shoulders to keep him from falling forward onto his knee.

"Ned," I say in a shaky voice. "You need to stay awake. We need to get back to the castle. Ned?"

I watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head and his full weight comes crashing down on me. I'm forced back onto my back and Ned's head lies in my lap. I brush his hair out of his face and cup his cheek in my hand.

"Ned?"

No response.

"Ned!"


	14. The Truth Revealed

**Hey. Sorry this one took so long cause I know I promised that I'd write more now that summer's here. It's just that this part is sooooo boring! It took me forever to get through it. I really can't wait to get to season two cause that's my favorite season and I have a lot planned for it. It's also when the M rating is really gonna kick in and you'll all get to see my darker side lol. **

The Truth Revealed

When the King and queen arrived I was ordered to leave Ned's room. I fought to remain by his side but King Robert wouldn't have it. I don't believe I've ever seen him so angry before. He's always either drunk or completely uninterested in his surroundings. Never involved enough to care. It's different now.

I can't hear anything besides muffled grumblings as I pace back and forth before the door. I stop when I hear an increase in the volume of their conversation followed by complete and utter silence. A few seconds later the door swings open and I'm face to face with the queen whose cheek is swollen with patches of red creeping its way to the surface of her face.

The door clicks closed behind her and I remember my manners.

"Your Grace," I say with a slight bow before moving out of her path.

She says nothing, merely pushes past me and down the hall, cupping her cheek as she goes.

A few minutes after that the door swings open to reveal the King who is staring in the direction of Ned's bed shouting, "Seven Hells! Don't start with her again! The girl will die and I'll hear no more of it."

Is he talking about the Targaryen girl? Did Ned bring her up?

There's a moment where King Robert just stares blankly into the room. Then he raises his hand in the air and points a frustrated, shaking hand at Ned. "Put on the badge, and if you ever take it off again I swear to the Mother I'LL PIN THE DAMN THING ON JAMIE LANNISTER."

He stomps his way out of the room and down the hall without even noticing me slip past him and back into Ned's room. In the room I find a bewildered, mangled, sweaty Ned Stark still staring at the place his friend once stood. Even though I have taken it I can tell he doesn't see me.

"Ned?" I say, taking a step closer to his bedside.

No response.

"Ned?"

Now I'm at his bedside and I carefully lower myself beside him on the bed. I lay my hand down on his arm and he jolts to attention.

"Eliza?" He mumbles with a scarily weak voice.

"How are you?" I ask, stroking his lower arm.

"I've been better," he groans trying to reposition himself higher up. I help position him to prevent him from stretching his wound anymore and he notices the bandage around my arm.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yea," I smile. "Just a scratch really. I can't believe I let that damned guard sneak up on me."

"You shouldn't have come," he sighs. "I should have left you here with the girls."

"What happened to 'when something dire happens I want you at my side'?" I smile cheekily but Ned looks unamused.

"We should have had more guards," he sighs again. "Just the two of us and…" Ned's eyes glance up at me asking the silent question.

I can't look him in the eyes as I respond.

"Jory died before he hit the ground," I speak only just above a whisper, as if avoiding saying it out loud will make it any less true.

Ned turns his head away but grasps my hand. I squeeze it tightly; the only form of comfort we can offer each other at the death of our friend.

"We have to leave," Ned says suddenly, releasing my hand and turning to get up from the bed.

"Right now?" I question, slightly confused. I jump up and run to the other side of the bed where he's attempting to swing his legs off. "Didn't his Grace just reinstate you as Hand? We can't leave now. Unless you _want_ him to pin the bloody thing on Jamie Lannister."

"We have to get the imp back first," he says. "Sort out all this mess." He pushes up and succeeds on standing for all of two seconds before he comes crashing down on top of me. I wrap my arms under his and lock them around his back to support his stance before carefully sitting him back down on the bed.

"Ned," my voice is stern. "You need to think rationally. We can't leave Kings Landing, not now." I reach over to the other side of the bed where the Hands pin sits. "You are the Hand of the King, and Lord Varys has made it very clear what will happen if we leave. I know you. If we leave and something happens to Robert, you will never forgive yourself."

"The imp."

"I have met with Lord Tyrion. He is clever, and never closes his damned mouth. I doubt any true harm will come to him in such a short amount of time." Gods, I hope I'm right.

"We need to stay here," I continue. "Where we can protect the King and the Kingdom."

Ned sigh and groans a little in pain before responding, "I know your right, but I'm worried that Cat will do something foolish."

I can't argue with him in that regard. Catelyn has always put her family above everything else, and right now she believes Lord Tyrion is responsible for the attempted assassination on her son…

I have to believe she realizes how much more dangerous it is to kill him than to keep him in her custody.

It took a while for me to fully convince Ned that he had to pin the Hand's Pin back onto his chest. By the time I did he was limping around the palace on a cane, me at his side. I refuse to leave it after everything that's happened. Ned's making foolish mistakes, I need to watch out for him now; make sure he doesn't make anymore.

Since King Robert had left for his hunting trip Ned has been in command. Today a small group of elderly commoners arrived at the palace, and from the looks of them they have a horrible story to tell.

"They burned, almost everything in the Riverlands," the elderly man, I'm guessing the elder of the village they've come from says. "Our fields, our granaries, our homes!" Tears are splashing around in his eyes as he stands before the Iron throne, upon which Lord Stark sits.

"They took our women," the man continues, "and then they took 'em again. And when they was done, they butchered them like animals. They covered our children in pigs… and lit them on fire." My stomach tightens with the image.

"Brigens most likely," Master Pycelle mumbles on Ned's far left.

"They weren't thieves," the old man pipes up. "They didn't steal nothing. They even left something behind, Your Grace."

"This is the Kings Hand you're addressing! Not the King! The King is hunting," Maester Pycelle bellows upon Neds improper identification. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ned scoff under his breath.

I turn back towards the elderly men when I hear a sloshing sound. On the floor is a heaping, rancid pile of fish and blood. The court groans in disgust and I see many ladies cover their faces with cloths to avoid the putrid smell that is enveloping the room.

"Fish," Lord Pyter chirps beside me. "The sigil of House Tully." He then leans across where I'm standing towards Ned and whispers, "Isn't that your wife's house? Tully, Lord Hand?" He speaks louder than a whisper, obviously wanting more than just Ned and I to hear what he says. Feeling the tension rise as Ned and the weasel stare at one another I step between them. I eye Lord Baelish warily being sure he sees my hand wresting on my sword. He eases back into his chair and continues to take note of the proceedings of the court.

"These men," Ned bellows, tapping his finger impatiently against the iron throne. "Were they flying a sigil?" The man looks at him blankly so Ned rewords his question. "A banner?"

"None your," he gulps down the wrong label and bellows out the proper one. "The one who was leading them, taller by a foot than any man I ever met. I saw him cut the blacksmith in two. Saw him take the head off a horse with a single swing of his sword."

With each descriptive word he says the image of the man comes to my mind. When he mentions the horse there is no doubt in my mind who this frightened old man is describing.

"The Mountain."

I state his name without meaning to and the entire court looks at me. It is not my place to speak here, however I can tell they all know that I'm right. I look to Ned for his response.

"You're describing Ser Gregor Clegane."

"Now why should Ser Gregor turn Brigen?" Pycelle grumbles eyeing me. "The man is an anointed knight."

An anointed knight who nearly killed a young man and pressed his brothers' face to a fire.

I take a deep breath to prevent myself from arguing with the old man out loud.

"I've heard him called Tywin Lannister's mad dog," Lord Baelish states, arguing with the old man. "I'm sure you have as well."

It's my first time hearing that the Mountain has connections with the Lannisters, although I'm not at all surprised. The killer of men and the blonde devils seem like a perfect match for one another.

Once more Lord Pyter leans across me and loudly whispers to Ned. "Can you think of any reason the Lannister's might possibly have for being angry with your wife?"

This time Ned visibly shows his annoyance with Littlefinger and I take that as an incentinve to push him back into his chair.

"You open your mouth one more time before this court, and I'll escort you out myself," I growl into his ear. He chuckles, making my anger fume but raises his hand up to me in defeat before settling back into his seat.

"If the Lannisters were to order attacks on villages under the King's protection it would be."

Hearing the damned old man defending the Lannister's, I can't help but speak my mind.

"They attacked the Hand of the King in the streets of the capital for all to see," I state sternly, boldly. "What makes this any different?"

My words lull Maester Pycelle back into silence.

Ned eyes me warily, a silent warning to watch what I say, before he turns back to the old village men.

"I cannot give you back your homes, or restore your dead to life," he says and the men sniffle and stare down at their feet. "But perhaps I can give you justice in the name of our King Robert." The village leaders head perks back up at this, and both he and I are staring at Ned, although our mindsets may be slightly different. He looks hopeful, while I no doubt look concerned for the decision it sounds Ned is about to make.

"Lord Beric Dondarrion!" Ned calls out, and a man moves his way before the throne.

"You shall have the command," Ned says and the knight nods in reply. "Assemble one hundred man and ride to Ser Gregors keep."

I let out a breath when I realize that Ned is only asking the knight to return that damned bastard to Kings Landing. Not ask him to do something foolish like return with his head.

The knight nods once more, "As you command."

Ned shifts in his seat and reaches out for his cane. I move forward as he rises onto his feet, prepared should he slip or fall. I expect us to be exiting the hall now, but instead Ned speaks again.

"In the name of Robert and the House Baratheon, in the first of his name, King of the Adel's and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm. I charge you to bring justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane and all those who shared in his crimes."

_I command you to return with the scoundrel Ser Gregor Clegane_, I finish in my head.

"I denounce him and attained him. I strip him of all ranks and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death."

Or he could say something like that and give the Lannisters even more cause to want him dead.

I restrain myself from speaking because I know that if I opened my mouth right now, I'd speak to Ned the same way I do in private and back home. My earlier outbursts were acceptable, but shouting at the Hand of the King that he's a complete twat is not something I should do right now. Luckily I don't have to say anything, Maester Pycelle – or course – has something to say.

"My Lord! This, this is a drastic action. It would be better to wait for King Roberts return."

I can't believe I'm agreeing with a Lannister sympathizer.

Please Ned, listen to reason.

"Grand master Pycelle," Ned bellows, implying for the old man to shut up and the man quickly backs down.

"Send a raven to Casterly Rock," Ned commands of Pycelle. "Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to court to answer for the crimes of his banner men. He will arrive within the fortnight, or be branded an enemy of the crown and a traitor to the realm."

The entire court gasps and whispers amongst themselves at Ned's declaration, and I'm restraining myself from smacking him upside the head.

If it had been under any other circumstances, I would be overrun with joy at this treatment of the Lannisters, but under these circumstances… Ned, what are you thinking?

Ned bows his head and the court is dismissed. He starts making his way down the stairs and I scurry after him as quickly as I can, Lord Baelish close behind me.

"Ned, do you really think that was…"

"A bold move my Lord," Baelish interrupts me and if it hadn't been for every eye in the room locked on our small group, I would have jabbed my hilt into his gut.

"And admirable," he continues, "but is it wise to yank the lions tail? Tywin Lannister's the richest man in all the Seven Kingdoms." This is strange. Littlefinger is giving Ned good advice…. Why? He doesn't seem like the kind of man to do something like this. Especially not for Ned. I can tell just by the way he looks at Lord Stark that he has a hidden agenda. I don't trust this damned weasel.

"Gold wins wars, not soldiers!" Lord Baelish finally shouts as Ned and I scurry away.

"Then how come Robert is King, and not Tywin Lannister?" Ned retaliates.

Once we're out of the hall and far from the crowds I shuffle in front of Ned forcing him to stop in his tracks. He looks at me bewildered.

"What are you thinking?" I ask.

"I'm thinking that this Kingdom is falling apart and Robert isn't doing anything to save it. I'm the Hand of the King, it's now my responsibility to protect both Robert and his kingdom."

"You realize," and I hate to say it, "Lord Baelish is right. Now isn't the time to be tugging on the lions tail. Especially when one of the lions has already taken a bite out of you." I indicate to his wounded leg.

"Of all the people to disagree with me, I never expected you to."

"There's a time and a place," I sigh. "Now is not the time."

"It's now or never Eliza."

Ned then pushes past me and makes his way down the hall.

Due to our disagreement Ned has barred me from his office. With my sudden abundance of free time I decided to check on the girls. Arya was training and when I attempted to join in she insisted that she didn't need a babysitter, assuming that her father had sent me. So I decided to spend the remainder of the day with Sansa.

At this point her lessons were over and she and the Septon were practicing their needlework in our living quarters. Septon threw a sowing set at me in an attempt to teach me, something I've been refusing for years, and still refuse to do now.

I lean up against a pillar altering my view between Sansa and the sky.

Sansa is still rather frustrated and remains utterly silent since the moment I entered the area, and no doubt she's been just as quiet prior to my arrival. Her frustration still lingering from the previous day.

"You wear your hair like a southerner now," I say, observing the intricate braids that sit atop her head. Much like the young girls that giggled at her whilst we were traveling here I can't help but notice.

Sansa ceases her sowing and glances up at me. "Why shouldn't I? We're in the South."

I fidget slightly against the pillar. "It's important to remember where you come from," I say shifting my gaze back towards the sky. In the back of my mind I picture something I haven't seen in a long time; a small green door leading into a tiny little shed filled with hay dirt.

"I'm not sure your mother would like these new styles," Septon says yanking me away from Bravos and back into Kings Landing.

"My mother isn't from the North," Sansa quips.

"I'm aware of that," Septon says solemnly, placing her sowing down in her lap.

A few moments of silence go by as the old woman looks at Sansa with a small, sad smile and the red-haired girl stitches. Finally growing annoyed with her, Sansa snaps, "Why do you care? Do you even have hair under there?" She indicates to the cloth tied tightly around Septons head and it's then I realize that even I myself have not seen her without it.

Septons smile grows slightly brighter. "Yes," she chirps, "I have hair."

"I've never seen it," Sansa says.

"Would you like to?" Septon asks.

Sansa raises a brow and flatly says, "No." She goes back to her sowing before turning back in Septons direction. "Where are you from anyway? The North or the South?" she asks.

Septons smile finally reaches her eyes. "I come, from a very small village…"

"Oh wait, I just realized I don't care," Sansa says flatly before beginning her needlework again.

"Sansa," I say harshly.

"Eliza," she replies coldly eyeing me.

"Don't be rude," I scold, but the hidden harshness in my tone gets through to her and she drops her head down.

Behind me I hear footsteps and I push off the pillar hoping it's Ned. I am unfortunately mistaken.

Trotting into our room is none other than Jofferey Baratheon.

Sansa and Septon quickly rise up from their seats and greet him accordingly. I on the other hand lean my shoulder up against the pillar once more and roll me eyes.

The prince nods towards Septon and his eyes linger on me for a few seconds, once again staring me up and down. I feel a shiver run down my spine at his cold blue eyes.

"My prince," Sansa says, and his gaze shifts off of me and onto her.

"My Lady," the boy says with a small bow. "I fear I have behaved monstrously the past few weeks." I roll my eyes and see Septon giving me a reproachful look.

"With your permission," the boys says jingling a necklace in front of Sansa that I can't quite see. I'm almost disgusted by the exuberant smile that plasters across Sansa's face – the first smile I've seen her make in weeks – due to him. She turns around so that her back is facing the Prince as he secures the chain around her neck.

"It's beautiful," she chirps, turning around so I can get a better look at it. "Like the one your mother wears." I can't help but think that it was her Majesty that recommended he give her the piece of jewelry.

"You'll be Queen someday," Joffrey says and my insides recoil. "So it's fitting you should look the part. Will you forgive me for my rudeness?"

"There's nothing to forgive," Sansa quickly replies.

Not a few days ago she was still crying over Lady's death and wailing over the fact that his royal princely-ness wasn't speaking to her at all. Just because of a necklace and a poor performance of kindness she's just going to forgive him? Ned is right, she isn't ready for the capitol.

"You're My Lady," Joffrey says placing his hands on Sansa's shoulders. My fingers twitch at my belt. "One day we'll be married in the throne room. Lords and Ladys from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come. From the Last Hearth in the North to the Salt Shore of the South. And you will me Queen of all of them."

With each word that leaves his lips Sansa's smile grows brighter and brighter till I nearly want to slap it off of her. She is just a child.

"I'll never disrespect you again. I'll never be cruel to you again," he continues and a voice in the back of my head chirps out a warning. Shouting at me that it's a lie.

"Do you understand me?" he asks and I notice his fingers tighten around her shoulders.

Sansa nods, not noticing the change in pressure.

"You're my Lady now," he says, his right hand moving up and cupping her cheek. "From this day, until my last day."

I knew it was going to happen the moment he placed his hand on her cheek, but when he actually leans in and kisses her… I hadn't even noticed I was pulling my sword free until I felt Septons hand wrap around my wrist and stop me. I nod and she slips her fingers away and I let my sword slide back into place. I roll my hand into a fist and cross my arms over my chest, locking my hand with my opposite arm.

Every inch of my flesh is burning and it takes all of my willpower not to stick the boy in the back as he exits the room.

Sansa's fingers trace the outline of her smiling lips as he goes.

I leave the room before I say something that will put her back into the hole of despair she's been in since we arrived. I'm glad she's back to being her usual cheerful self, but knowing that the cost was having that boy's lips on hers… I can't stand it.

The Godswood is the only place in the castle I feel I can go to and not have eyes peering at me. My fingers trace across the face carved into the pale bark of the tree before I kneel down and lean up against its trunk.

I wonder how Lady Catelyn is doing. If she has snapped back into reality and let Tyrion go. I hope she's made it back to Winterfell by now and is helping Robb. The stress of being the protector of Winterfell and defender of the North must be a heavy burden. Especially without Catelyn, Ned, or myself there to help him. The only one he has is Theon… and unless Robb has decided to take care of the North from beneath a woman's skirt, he's useless.

Then Jon pops into my head. It's been a while since I've thought about him.

I hope that he's doing well up at the Wall. What he envisioned it as is most likely not what it is. The respect and dignity that once belonged to the title of a Knight's Watchman has been diminished over the years. Jon may be one of the few honorable men that has taken the black.

I just hope he's finally found what he's been looking for there. I hope he's happy if not content.

"What are you doing here?"

I jump at the sound of Ned's voice.

"I just," I look from Ned, to the weirwood tree. "I needed somewhere that felt more familiar." My fingers once again trail across the tree's face as Ned makes his way closer.

Ned's head dips in understanding, he himself probably being here for the same reason. Standing underneath the white and red of the weirwood almost creates the illusion that we're home.

Ned slowly wobbles his way over beside me and wrests his hand on the bark above my shoulder; securing both his stance and mental state.

"It's almost like being home, isn't it?" His voice is sad as he caresses the tree.

I nod my head.

His hand slips from the bark and he limps away from me and back towards where he came. He call's over his shoulder, "Retrieve the girls and meet me in my study."

I jump up to my feet and call out, "What's happening Ned?"

"Something you've been trying to convince me to do since we first set foot in this damned place."

The girls and I have been waiting in Ned's office for longer than I expected. I had pulled Arya out of a late night training match with Syrio and she wasn't happy about it. Sansa keeps rolling her eyes with every complaint that comes out of her younger sisters mouth.

I'm leaned up against Ned's desk fiddling with the pages of the Chronicle wondering why Ned asked me to bring the girls here so suddenly.

When Ned finally walks in I stand more at attention. Ned nods and me and I return one.

He looks to the girls with a solemn expression.

"I'm sending you back to Winterfell."

Both confession and joy well up within me.

For Sansa however, only sheer contempt.

"What?" she cries. Ned attempts to argue but Sansa quickly cuts him off. "What about Joffrey?"

I roll my eyes.

"Are you dying because of your leg?" Arya asks worried. "Is that why you're sending us home?"

"What?" Ned says aghast. "No."

"Please father! Please don't!" Sansa begs.

"You can't," Arya, surprisingly agrees with her sister. "I've got my lessons with Syrio! I'm finally getting good!" I'd expect she'd be more than happy to return home. I suppose leaving Syrio would be the only difficulty for her, but I didn't expect that to be such a large factor.

"This isn't a punishment. I want you back in Winterfell for your own saftey," Ned says, and my curiosity in knowing how he finally came to the realization that the girls should leave is peaked.

"Can we take Syrio back with us?" Arya asks.

"Who cares about your stupid dancing teacher," I smirk at the fact that Sansa still hasn't realized Arya's "dancing" lessons aren't really dancing lessons. She really is too foolish to remain here.

"I can't go!" she continues. "I'm supposed to marry Prince Joffrey! I love him and I'm meant to be his queen and have his babies!"

I let out an agitated sigh as Arya scoffs, "Seven Hells." I think I even see Ned's lips quirk up for half a second.

"Sansa," I say pushing off from the desk and kneeling in front of her. "When you're older, your father and mother will make you a match with someone who is truly worthy of you. Someone brave, handsome, and strong. Like in the songs you love."

Sansa shoves away my hand laying on her knee and jumps to her feet. "I don't want someone brave and gentle and strong! I want him!"

As I rise to my feet Arya and I lock eyes and smirk.

"He'll be the greatest King that ever was!" Sansa continues, trying to argue with her father but clearly failing by the look he gives me when I stand beside him.

"He'll be a golden lion and I'll give him sons with beautiful blonde hair!"

Ned stiffens beside me and the mirth in his eyes disintegrates.

"The lion's not his sigil idiot!" Arya scolds Sansa. "He's a stag like his father."

"He is not! He's nothing like that old drunk king!"

Now my body stiffens.

I picture King Robert beside his son and… Sansa's right. Both in looks and behavior, that boy is nothing like his son. Robert may be a drunk and a fool, but he is an honest and kind man. Joffrey… is cold, and has this feel about him that makes my toes curl and all of my instincts boil.

They are nothing alike.

"Go on girls," Ned suddenly speaks pulling my consciousness back into the room. "Get the Septon and start packing up your things."

The girls both growl in protest but Ned ignores then making his way behind his desk. As I watch him I can see that something has clicked inside his head.

"Come on girls," I say, motioning the two out the door. "Do as your father says. We'll leave at noon tomorrow."

The girls grumble until the door closes behind them and then I bolt to the side of Ned's desk.

"What is it?" My voice comes out in a rush. "Sansa is right. Joffrey is nothing like his father. Not is mentality nor appearance." Suddenly the image of the bastard newborn at Lord Baelish's establishment plops into my mind; the dark haired child.

My thoughts instantly go to the Chronicle, and no sooner do I go to mention it does Ned have it open and turned to the page on House Baratheon.

"Lord Orris Baratheon," Ned reads, "black of hair."

His finger skims down to another name. "Axel Baratheon, black of hair."

Again and again each name proclaims the child black of hair. From the first name of the house all the way through.

Finally we reach King Robert. "Robert Baratheon, black of hair," Ned reads.

His finger stills on the next name and I find myself having to read it out loud just so we can be sure our theory is correct.

"Joffrey Baratheon," I breathe. "Golden haired."

Ned falls back in his chair and as he does the books pages flutter shut.

"So," my voice is just a whisper. "This means that."

"Joffrey isn't Robert son."


	15. Death of the Fool King

Death of the Fool King

"Ned!" I cry out as he jumps from his desk. I sprint up and cut him off before he reaches the door. "What are you doing?"

"It all make's sense now!" he cries, and he's right. Everything connects: Jon Aryns death, the bastards, the House Chronicle, even Brans fall from the tower. It all leads back to Joffrey and the color of his hair.

"I know Ned," I sigh but don't move. "You can't be rash about this."

"Those two are the reason for everything!" he cries, shaking his fist. "Jon, Bran… those Lannisters caused everything!"

The image of the damned Lannister twins throwing Bran from the tower makes me shiver with rage. It's taking every fiber of my being and all the logic I have not to rush out the door myself and shove a sword through their guts.

"I understand what you're feeling Ned. Gods! I will probably understand it better than anyone else," I sigh reluctantly. "But we're asking for a death wish just barging in and calling them out on it!"

"I've been through plenty wars not to fear death anymore Eliza," Ned growls, before trying to push past me.

I shove him back. "What about the girls!" I screech. Ned stares down at me sharply. "They already tried killing Bran when we were on _our_ lands. You really think it won't be hard for them to kill the girls here?"

I can see the understanding washing over Neds face reluctantly. He stumbles back and rubs at his temples.

"You love your children Ned," I add to emphasize my point. "I know you don't want anything to happen to them, but if you move too fast and too foolishly, they will be caught in the crossfire."

"I'm not just going to do nothing."

"Neither am I," I sigh and move beside him. "We just need to think more logically about this. The first thing we need to do is send the girls home; get them out of this before it starts."

"Yes. Yes, you're right," Ned agrees.

"We have enough evidence," I say indicating towards the Chronicle. "With the book and the bastards we have the proof Lord Aryn had. We just need to make sure what happened to him doesn't happen to you. Take the night to rest and think. Tomorrow we can discuss what we plan to do and I'll send the girls off with some of our guard."

Ned clearly still wants to bolt for the door, but he can definitely see the logic in what I'm telling him. He nods reluctantly and sits back down at his desk.

"Tomorrow," he mumbles.

"Tomorrow," I agree.

I bolt down the hall at lightning speed.

"Eliza!" Septon shouts out from the balcony where she and Sansa are packing the remains of their sowing supplies. "Stop running!"

I skid to a stop. "Have you seen Ned?"

"You will address him as Lord Stark Eliza," she scolds, folding some cloth. I roll my eyes and press for an answer. Septon drops the folded fabric into a chest and says, "He left early this morning. I believe he was heading in the direction of the west garden."

I bolt off before Septon has even finished.

The sun shines into my eyes and is the only thing that slows me down, but only for a split second. I shove countless people out of my way until I reach the secluded area of the west garden balcony. I look down and my jaw practically drops at what I see: Ned and the Queen.

Seven Hells Ned… What have you done?

I don't even bother with the stairs I jump right off the balcony into the circular area below. No sooner do I come into the circumference of the marble fence does Queen Cersei exit, thankfully, without noticing my entrance. Ned is standing, staring down at his feet.

"What have you done?" I cry, surprising him. He jumps slightly as I make my way towards him. I find it unnerving that he didn't notice my approach. He's distracted. I can still see the Queen confidently making her way out of the garden.

"Please tell me you didn't tell her everything?" Ned's silence gives me the answer I dreaded. My fingers instantly start massaging my aching temples.

"I know it wasn't the wisest decision and you wouldn't approve," Ned says. "I gave it a lot of thought last night and what you said: I love my children and I wouldn't want anything to happen to them. I assumed she would feel the same." His head hangs sadly. Clearly that Lannister bitch didn't care about Ned's threats.

"She's the Queen," I sigh. "I'm sure she loves her children, but she still has enough power to defend herself and her children. Even with all our evidence," I roll my eyes knowing it's true. "The only chance we have to win this fight is to get King Robert on our side."

"Yes," Ned agrees. "You're right. He should be returning from his hunt within the next couple of days. The moment he comes back I will speak with him."

The first reasonable thing he's said all morning.

We begin to make our way back through the castle and towards our rooms. Ned has asked that I postpone the girls sendoff until later this evening so that he may spend some time with them before we leave.

"I'm sorry My Lord, but I will not be accompanying the girls."

"What?" Ned starts. "I need you to protect them."

"They will be safe on the road with the guard," I argue. "You however will be left here with very few men and no confidant. You are in greater danger than Arya and Sansa could be on an open road. I will not leave you here."

Ned's gaze scolds me but his lips do not.

We continue our way towards our rooms when a voice shouts out Ned's name behind us. We turn around to see Lord Renly bolting up behind us. He must have just returned from the hunt with King Robert; his clothes are torn and run-down, blood splashes smear his clothes, and sweat covers his brow. He charges up to us as fast as his tired body will allow him and starts wheezing in an attempt to catch his breath.

"It's Robert," he squeaks, and the realization of how much blood is covering him causes Ned and I to stiffen. His hands, face, clothes, nearly every inch of him is covered with blood, too much to be boars blood.

"We were hunting," he continues, "a bore." Unable to complete his sentence Lord Renly starts to stagger back in the direction he'd come from. Without question Ned and I rush after him as fast as his limp leg will allow.

Ned asked me to remain outside the doors when we arrived at the Kings room. I waited outside with the two royal guards, Master Pycell, Ser Barristan, Lord Varys, and Lord Renly who continued to pace back and forth in a fret. Ser Barristan looks more troubled than the young man; his face is grim and sad, like his world is shattering around him.

I walk towards him and he jumps when my boots come into the line of his floor-ward vision. He looks up at me blankly and I try and give him a comforting smile. "The King will be alright," I say.

"I rather doubt that," Lord Renly slurs, still pacing.

"I failed him," the elderly knight beside me sighs, his head falling down in shame. "After all these years. All the men I cut down to defend him, I couldn't even save him from a boar." His hand falls onto the part of his golden armor smeared in the Kings blood. "He commanded us to step aside," his hand morphs into a bloody fist. "I failed him," he whispers under his breath once more. I cannot think of anything to say. With the amount of blood smeared on both Lord Renly and Ser Barristan I'm amazed that King Robert got back to the Red Keep alive.

The door clicks open behind me and I turn, surprised that Ned could already be done after only just entering the King's room. It isn't My Lord however, but Prince Joffrey that angrily stomps his way out of the room.

He starts making his way down the corridor when he catches sight of me in the corner of his eye. He turns around rather abruptly and grasps hold of my wrist so tight I wince. He tugs me along till we're a ways down the corridor and out of ear-shot of the men awaiting the news of their beloved King.

Rather unexpectedly Joffrey's other hand clamps around my neck and pushes me up against the wall. I attempt to shake my wrist free from his other hand but he simply pins it against the wall as well. My attempts to use my legs are quickly squashed when his body leans against mine, his legs pinning mine between him and the wall. I'm immobile, and for the first time, I'm frightened of the spoiled blonde brat.

His face is only centimeters from mine and his breath moves strands of my hair into my eyes.

"What do you want," I growl, trying to push him off with little success.

"I'm going to be king soon," he says with a sick gleeful smile. "Soon I can do what I want… _take_ what I want." His hands squeeze around my wrist and throat. A gurgle escapes from me as he cuts off airflow.

He leans forwards so his lips brush my ear and he whispers, "As well as who I want."

My hands curl into fists, dying to plow into his cursed princely face, but I cannot get them out from under his weight. Due to his close proximity however I see a chance of removing said weight. I slam my head into his and as soon as I make contact both his hands release me. He stagers back, his palm plastered to his do doubt ringing forehead. I fall slightly forward as the rush of oxygen fills my lungs.

"Cunt," he snarls under his breath as he pulls his hand away from his head, checking for blood. When seeing none he starts toward me with bared teeth like a wild animal.

I tug my dagger out from my belt. "Take one more step and I'll gut you," I growl and he quickly stops his charge.

He starts shuffling his feet, moving from side to side in front of me. My blade follows him back and forth, back and forth. He tries once more to charge but my dagger blocks his way. He holds his hands up and slowly backs away from the newly sharpened point.

Another sick smile curls onto his lips. "No matter," he says. His head tilts to the side as his eyes scan me like they've done so many times before.

"You know, ever since the day I rode into that accursed home of yours you caught my eye."

I can feel my body freeze up, every inch of me stiff. Except for a roaring in my stomach fueling my anger, I cannot feel anything.

"You were like a fire the first day I saw you, in that blood red dress of yours singing songs of love and blood," he continues still staring at me. "Then you hunt. You fight. You talk back to your betters without thought. You are unlike any woman I have ever met before." He starts moving towards me again, but I can't get myself to move.

"You are strong, courageous, loyal, honorable," with each word he takes another step closer till his lips are once more right against my ear.

"It'll make it all the more fun breaking you."

I feel sick.

He backs away just enough so our noses brush against one another. His cold, dark, eyes stare into mine and then they start moving closer. I shove him off right before his lips brush against mine.

He laughs menacingly, staggering back just an arm's length away from me.

"Have a nice day My Lady," he whispers before turning around and walking down the hall still bearing a gleefully sadistic smile.

I can hear the sound of his boots clicking against the floor as my dagger slips from my finger and clatters to the floor. My body is shaking as I fall up against the brick wall and slide down to the floor.

_You are a woman Eliza. You may think you are strong and can defeat everything that comes before you but you can't._

Sandor's warning shouts in my head as I tug my knees to my chin.

I don't know how long I sit there. A few minutes? A few hours? Every part of me is screaming.

All I know is that by the time Ned finds me curled up on the ground I can only feel anger. If that bastard thinks he will get what he wants – the kingdom, power, wealth, me – he doesn't know who he's fucking with.

What in the Seven Hells is happening?

Ned and I returned to his office where he told me of two _wonderful_ revelations that have occurred today: King Roberts squire Lancel Lannister is most likely the cause of King Robert's squabble with the boar and in effect his death; and Lord Renly has decided that either we should seize the castle and take control of Joffrey, or his dainty fucking ass should be seated on the bloody throne.

Could the day get any worse?

"Eliza, stop pacing," Ned complains, "You're giving me a bloody headache."

"Sorry Ned," I say before slumping down in the chair before him.

Even seated I cannot stop myself from fidgeting. My fingers tap against the arm of the chair and my boots do the same. My head swings back and forth looking around the room.

I hear Ned sigh. "Eliza."

"Sorry," I mumble, slumping further into the chair as he goes back to his writing.

"What are you writing?" I finally question, leaning onto the desk to get a better view of the paper.

"A letter to Stannis," Ned replies. "Telling him of what has occurred, and that he is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. I have asked him to ride for Kings Landing as soon as possible."

I contemplate whether this is a smart decision inside my head. After all, we have the evidence to prove Joffrey's false title – and as of this instant I would do anything to assure that prick doesn't sit the Iron Throne – however, this isn't as discreet as it could be. Ned may be acting too quickly.

"I know what you're thinking," Ned says without looking up from his desk. "I have a plan Eliza," he says raising his head up to look at me with a small smile. "I promise you, everything will be fine."

At that instant the door opens and one of our soldiers, Kevin I believe his name is, come in.

"You will sail to Dragonstone tonight," Ned commands of the man who stands beside me. "You will place this in the hand of Stannis Baratheon. Not his steward, not his captain of the guard, and not his wife." He presses his seal in to the silver wax before handing the envelope over. "Only Stannis himself," Ned reaffirms the soldier before releasing his hold on the paper.

"Yes My Lord," he replies, and as he does the door creeks open and a weasel strides into the office.

"Leave us," Ned commands the soldier as Lord Baelish strolls in to take his place beside me. I rise up in my seat and eye the skinny man sharply.

"My Lord Protector," he says with a cheeky smile and sarcastic bow. Ned does not look amused, and neither am I.

After a few seconds of silence Ned finally speaks up, and I'm surprised with his bluntness.

"The King has no trueborn sons. Joffrey and Tomen are Jamie Lannisters bastards."

"So, when the King dies."

"The throne passes to his brother," Ned says cutting off the weasel. "Lord Stannis."

"So it would seem," Lord Baelish says, scurrying his way behind my chair, his fingers tracing the back of it and catching my hair.

"Unless."

"There is no 'unless'!" Ned cries, once more cutting him off. "He is the rightful heir. Nothing can change that."

"And he cannot take the throne without your help. You'd be wise to deny it to him. And to make sure Joffrey succeeds," Lord Baelish rambles out too fast for Ned to cut him off.

Ned stares at him astonished by his words, while I find a desire to stand up and punch the rodent in the nose.

"Do you have a shred of honor?" Ned questions.

"You are now Hand of the King _and_ Protector of the Realm," Baelish says. "All of the power is yours, you need only reach out and take it." Med continues to stare at him with and undertone of hatred in his eyes.

"Make peace with the Lannister's," Baelish continues and my stomach tightens at the thought. "Release the imp, wed your daughter to Joffrey. We have plenty of time to get rid of Stannis and if Joffrey seems likely to cause problems when he comes into his throne we simply reveal his little secret and seat Lord Renly there instead."

"We?" Ned asks.

"You'll need someone to share these burdens I assure you," Lord Baelish says making his way back towards Ned's desk. "My price would be modest," he says taking a seat in the chair beside me.

"What you suggest is treason," Ned says.

"Only if we lose," he replies with a smirk.

"You're only trying to save yourself," I snarl, finally adding my voice into the conversation. "You don't have an ounce of honor in your tiny, weasely body."

Lord Baelishs' beady eyes look on me with a sick gleam. "Aren't we all?" He leans closer to me. "This is the game of thrones, and if you don't play it right you die. Treason is the card most commonly played. Honor ends your turn in the game."

"You think life is a game?"

"I think life is about surviving the game," he smiles cheekily. "In this world you have to lie and deceive to survive." He leans closer towards me and whispers, "I suspect you know a thing or two about that." He moves back into his seat still smiling cheekily. I want to rip it off his face, not just because he's trying to get inside my head, but because what he says makes sense. He's making me rethink this plan.

"Make peace with the Lannisters you say?" Ned says, tugging the dagger that was meant for Brans throat out onto his desk. I feel my hear stop as the gleaming valyrian steal links onto the wood of the desk. "With the people who tried to murder my boy?"

"We only make peace with our enemies My Lord," the weasel retaliates. "That's why it's called making peace."

Curse this bastard for making sense.

"No," Ned grumbles. "I won't do it."

"So it will be Stannis and war?"

"There is no other choice. He is the heir."

Lord Baelish turns to me. "What do you think of your Lord's ideas about the coming future?"

I look back and forth between Ned and the weasel, attempting to give myself time to shove Lord Baelishes words out of my brain, but it's no use.

"Lord Baelish make's some good points."

"Eliza?"

"Honor and loyalty will only get you so far Ned," I say, no matter how much it pains me to do so. "You know how I feel towards the Lannisters, and I'd rather die than see Sansa married to Joffrey," I take a deep breath. "But crossing the Lannisters at a time like this may just be too dangerous."

"You expect me to let the bastard sit on the throne?"

"I think we should bide our time until we can retaliate with _our own strength_." The hidden meaning to my words is not lost on either men. I don't trust Lord Baelish.

"But you are My Lord Ned," I say, pained by the hurt I know my words must have inflicted. "Whatever decision you make I will follow you." Ned nod's acknowledging my apology, but clearly still stunned by everything I have said.

He looks back up to Lord Baelish. "I will do the honorable thing."

Of course he will.

"Stannis will sit on the Iron Throne."

Silence filters through the tension of the room until Lord Baelish shatters it.

"So why did you call me here?" Lord Baelish questions. "Not for my wisdom clearly."

"You promised Catelyn you would help me. The queen has a dozen knights and a hundred men at arms. Enough to overwhelm what remains of my household guard. I need the Gold Cloaks. The City Watch is two thousand strong, and sworn to defend the Kings Peace."

As Ned speaks a smile spreads across Lord Baelish's face. "Look at you," he says cheerfully, leaning up in his seat so he's closer to the desk. "You know what you want me to do. You know what has to be done. But it's not honorable, so the words stick in your throat."

Lord Baelish leans forward and his fingers slide across the daggers blade.

"When the Queen proclaims one king and the Hand proclaims another, whose peace do the Gold Cloaks protect? Who do they follow?" The knife scratches across the desk as Lord Baelish turns the blade of the dagger towards himself. "The man who pays them," he says with a cheeky smile.

"I will speak with the commander of the Gold Cloaks. You have my word," Lord Baelish says rising to his feet. "They will be beside you when the time comes."

"Thank you Lord Baelish," Ned says rising to his feet as well.

"My Lord," Lord Baelish bows to Ned before turning to me. "My Lady," he says with his cheeky smile before exiting the room.

The door clicks shut behind him and I instantly rise to my feet and slam my hands on the top of Ned's desk causing everything to shake.

"You're really going to trust that weasel?" I shout.

"I have no other choice."

"Ned," I sigh, every inch of me concerned. "I don't think this plan is as well thought out as it could be."

Ned moves around his desk and comes beside me. He drops his hand on my shoulder and says, "It is the honorable thing to do."

"Doing the honorable thing could get you killed," I wheeze, feeling a lump forming in my throat.

"I'll be fine," he says in an attempt to persuade me. "Tomorrow this will all be over."

I nod slightly and Ned's hand cups my cheek quickly before falling back at his side.

"I want you to see the girls off while I'm at the court," Ned says as he moves past me towards the doorway.

"What?" I shout spinning around to face him. "I told you, I'm not leaving your side."

"And after you can assure me the girls are safe and out of harm's way you can remain there."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes Eliza, I promise."


	16. Capture

Capture

"I don't want to go!"

"You've made that perfectly clear Sansa but at this point it's futile," I retaliate from the doorway of her empty room.

All of the girls luggage has been packed and placed in the carriage. The only remaining things to get are the girls themselves, and Sansa is proving to be a very difficult thing to pack.

"It's not fair!" she shrieks for the umpteenth time today, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting. She plops down onto the end of her mattress as if to say: "There's no way you can make me move". I sigh heavily before entering the room and sitting beside her on the bed.

"This is better for you. Please, try and understand that your father is only trying to protect you."

"From love?" the girls cries and tears pool in her bright blue eyes.

"From yourself," I sigh, wrapping my arm about her shoulders. "You're so very young Sansa. You're trying so hard to rush through what little bit of childhood you have left. Trust me when I say you want to enjoy it while it lasts."

Sansa's head slowly falls to my shoulder. I let her whimper for a few more minutes, but when Septon arrives in the doorway I know time is short. Ned wanted to be sure the girls were gone before he was done in the throne room.

"Come on Sansa," I say standing up. I hold out my hand for her. She looks up at me with big, puppy eyes. "It's time to go."

Sansa rises to her feet, ignoring my hand, and quickly bolts out the door. Septon and I rush to catch up with her as we make our way down the hall towards the traveling party.

"Where is Arya?" Septon questions me as we rush after the red haired girl.

"She is finishing up her lesson with Syrio," I reply. "He promised me he'd bring her to meet us as soon as they are done."

"If I have to go that little klutz has to come with me," Sansa grumbles as Septon and I come up on either side of her.

"Arya is not a klutz Sansa," I defend the strong young girl who I know would have happily defended herself.

"Every time she's with her stupid dancing master she comes back with cuts and bruises," Sansa moans. "It's not fair that she gets to take that stupid man back with her while your forcing me to leave Joffrey behind."

"Hush!"

I cut Sansa off and hold my arm out to stop her and Septon in their tracks.

It's faint, but I can hear the echo of metal clashing and people shouting. Within seconds the sound gets abundantly louder and I know Septon and Sansa can hear it too. Septon turns to me warily.

"Take her back to her room," she commands me. "Bar the doors and do not open them for anyone you do not know." Her voice is sterner than I've ever heard it. I nod and wrap my hand around Sansa's forearm.

"What is it? What's happening?" Sansa's voice sounds panicked as she clutches onto my arm with her free hand.

"Do as I told you. Run!" Septon whisper-shouts at us and without hesitation I tug Sansa back down the hall without looking back.

We make it about halfway through the corridors to Sansa's room when I hear the thundering of metal feet ahead and stop I push Sansa up against the wall and put my arm around her protectively.

"What are you doing?" Sansa asks attempting to swat my hand away. I turn to her and place a finger to my lips imploring her to be silent.

"We can't get back," I whisper and scan the area around us. I hear crashes and screams coming from almost all directions. We're trapped.

I promised Ned I'd protect the girls. I promised him they'd be safe when he was done in the Throne Room.

I bolt down a hallway tugging Sansa along with me.

"Where are we going?" she asks, louder than I'd like her to be. "Septon said to go to my room."

"We're getting Arya and then I'm taking the two of you out of Kings Landing myself."

"Arya's all the way on the other side of the castle."

"I promised your father I'd protect you two," I say sternly. "I am not leaving her here."

I run faster down the hall. My heart thundering faster than my feet.

We're on the other end of our chambers, still a long ways from Arya, when a large figure walks through the open archway before us. I stop and position myself in front of Sansa, my hand on the hilt of my sword and ready.

The large armored man steps closer to us and my stomach twists. Of course they'd send him.

"Clegane."

For the faintest moment I feel relief seeing him, but it quickly disappears when I catch the look in his eyes.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks coming closer towards us.

This isn't the Clegane from the woods that I know. This is the prince's dog come to fetch.

I pull my sword from its sheath and swing it out in front of me. "Stay away from us."

He stops for a second, eyeing me warily, almost like he's trying to tell me something. But then he keeps moving forward.

"I said STOP!"

Surprisingly, he does. He stands only a few feet away from me, my sword the only thing between us.

"Stay away from us," Sansa whimpers behind me. "I'll tell my father." Her voice is shaking. "I'll tell the queen."

Clegane chuckles, looking over my shoulder at Sansa. "Who do you think sent me?"

I should have known that bitch Lannister was behind this. Oh gods… what about Ned?

Clegane's eyes shift towards me and my worry for Ned is overshadowed by my concern for Sansa. Although his face still holds its mirth, his eyes are hard, stern.

"Following orders?"

He nods just enough for me to see it.

My grip loosens slightly around my sword.

"Let us go." I plead with my eyes.

"I can't do that."

His eyes stare into mine. My hands re-tighten around my sword.

"Fine."

I lunge but he's too quick. His sword is drawn and meeting mine before I have a chance to strike a blow. I pull back and try again but am once more blocked. Our blades slide against each other and sparks hiss in the air.

It doesn't take me a long time to realize that Clegane isn't striking back. He's simply blocking everything I throw at him. When our blade's meet between our faces I hiss, "Why don't you fight me you coward?"

"Because you can't win."

I pull back and put a foot of space between us before I lunge again.

"Eliza!" Sansa's voice shouts out behind me and I falter. What I big mistake.

The last thing I see is Clegane's scared face and a metal fist coming towards my temple.

My eye's flitter open as wind-blown tree branches cause the sun to dance across my eyelids. I attempt to sit up but my head is throbbing so hard I barely raise and inch before I slump back down on what I believe to be a feather pillow.

"Good morning," a gravelly voice says beside me. My hand reaches out, nails clawing into the mattress in search of my sword, dagger, really anything I can use to fight.

"There's nothing for you to use. They removed all your weapons the first chance they had."

I don't have to look, let alone open my eyes to know whose body that voice belongs to.

"What the fuck are you doing here Clegane?"

"I was ordered to guard you."

"You're very good at following orders lately aren't you?" I grumble, the sarcasm abundantly clear in my tone.

I try once more to push myself up into a seated position. I get a little further than my first try but still fall back down onto my back.

"Seven hells," I mumble under my breath as I bring my hand up to massage my temple.

I hear a shuffle of fabric and the clink of metal go on beside me. I finally blink my eyes open just in time to see Clegane's scarred face turn back towards me. He leans over me and grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me up into a seated position. I wince at the metal biting into my skin but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain. I push him off the instant I can support myself.

"Here," he grumbles, handing me a cup of water.

I take it without a word and quickly chug the cold liquid down.

After I finish it I look around. I'm in a rather lavish room for a prisoner, which I am positive I must be. The furnishings and everything are more extravagant than my previous rooms. I set the cup down on the table beside my bed. Clegane sits opposite me on a spare chair in the center of my room. He stares at me blankly.

Just the sight of him makes my blood boil. I thought I was finally getting through to him on the 'following orders' level, I guess I was wrong. Although I would rather stick a dagger in his eye than speak to him right now, there's something I really need to know.

"Where are the girls?"

"The little girl disappeared. No one knows where she ran off too. Sansa's fine," Clegane says. "In her own room with her own guard. Just finished speaking with the Queen."

I scoff. "No doubt it'll be my turn to speak with her _royal highness_."

"Yes it would."

My head spins towards the voice. It comes from the now open doorway, where Cersei Lannister stands with a smug smile on her face.

She struts into the room proudly. "You may leave us," she tells Clegane.

He looks at me before rising and exiting the room and I can swear he's scolding me with his eyes.

The door clicks shut behind him and Cersei takes his seat. She crosses her legs and grabs a glass of wine off a table to her left.

We both just sit there for a few moments staring at one another. She taps her finger on the rim of her goblet. I count them.

Around the fifty fifth tap she places the cup down in her lap and leans forward in her seat so that her elbows rest on her knees.

"You are not a fool Eliza," she says.

I don't respond.

She smiles and falls back into her chair. "You are no doubt the only reason Ned Stark survived this long in the capitol. His words of wisdom. But even you couldn't stop him from doing something this foolish."

I don't have need to question her knowledge of myself – even though this is the first time we've actually spoken – no doubt she has her ways of gaining intelligence. In the back of my mind Vary's waves at me. As of this moment I'm less interested in what she knows about me and more interested in what she knows about someone else.

"Where's Ned?"

The newly widowed Queen giggles. She grabs and takes a sip of her wine before responding to my question. "Imprisoned," she says flatly without the smile even leaving her face. "Locked away in the dark dungeons of the castle. He made the drastic mistake of trusting someone he shouldn't. I'm sure you can guess who that is."

Baelish. My fingernails claw into the fabric of the quilt and the Queen's smile grows wider.

"Lord Stark was a foolish man. Honorable, but foolish," she continues, taking sips of wine between statements. "He has committed treason, which, as I'm sure you know, is punishable by death."

My breathing falters and she notices. An obviously fake pity splashes across her face. She leans over and touches my hand with the tips of her fingers. "There's no need to fret," she says, "I'm sure there's some way he can be saved." I swipe my hand away and the wickedness returns to her face.

"After all," she says trying to regain her earlier composer, "killing a man of his standing would not be the wisest decision."

"What do you want from me?"

"Pardon?" she asks through her goblet.

"You killed everyone loyal to the Stark house except myself. I can see what would be valuable in keeping Ned and the girls alive. Why me?"

"You are the future Lady of the North," the golden haired witch replies cheerfully. "You are just as much a Stark as Sansa and Arya."

"So I'm useful," I smirk at her and for the first time since she's entered the room the queens demeanor abates. Her grip around her goblet tightens and she sucks on her teeth.

"Yes," she speaks harshly. "You are." She stands and stares down at me. "Be lucky that you are. I already know you're going to be more trouble than you're worth."

I chuckle. "But I'm still worth something."

Now her performance vanishes entirely. She splashes the little remnants of her wine in my face and storms out of the room.

As I'm wiping the fruity liquid off my face Clegane re-enters.

"You still haven't learned shit have you?" he grumbles.

"I've learned that Sansa is safe, Arya is missing," my head drops back down to the pillow, my face turned away from the burned up watch dog. "And the closest thing I have to a father is probably going to die."

It's been nearly a week since the day Queen Cersei came to visit me in my room. Clegane has been on guard duty, though now he has positioned himself outside the door. I take both comfort and annoyance in all this time alone. All of my weapons have been taken so occupying the time with training is not possible, and I haven't been allowed to leave or see Sansa. Every once and a while I sit by the door and listen out into the hall. Sometimes I sing a little through the cracks in the door. It helps me get a nostalgic feeling of being back home in Winterfell. For the few minutes of song it's almost like none of this is happening, like we never left the North.

Today I hum and mumble some of 'My Featherbed'.

"My featherbed is deep and soft,  
and there I'll lay you down,  
I'll dress you all in yellow silk  
and on your head a crown.  
For you shall be my lady love,  
and I shall be your lord.  
I'll always keep you warm and safe,  
and guard you with my sword.

And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree.  
She spun away and said to him,  
no featherbed for me.  
I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,  
and bind my hair with grass,  
But you can be my forest love,  
and me your forest lass."

The door clicks open and I jump to my feet so that my toes don't catch under the door.

Clegane comes in and looks down on me.

"The queen has given you and the girl permission to leave your rooms."

"Well isn't that decent of her," I say sarcastically as I move through the doorway and out into the hall. I look down both ways and I don't recognize where I am. Some new area of the castle I haven't been to before.

"Where's Sansas room?" I ask over my shoulder.

"Down the hall," he responds. "The next room over."

I don't say anything else or thank him, I just make my way down towards Sansa's room.

When I arrive there the door is open and Sansa is seated on her bed gazing down at her fingers. Her skin is pale and her shoulders are slumped. I knock lightly on the wooden frame of the doorway and her head shoots up to reveal red-rimmed eyes.

"Sansa," I whisper, pained and rush into the room. She jumps up and meets me, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck and I feel tears spill onto my neck.

"They told me father's a traitor," she mumbles into my neck. I push her back and hold her at shoulders length.

"Don't you for one second believe that," I say sternly. I peek over my shoulder to be sure there is no one listening before I speak again. "Your father is in danger Sansa. Only we can help him now."

Sansa looks at me confused. "How?"

"I have a plan."

It feels weird to walk around without my sword and dagger strapped at my sides. My fingers keep playing with the empty leather as Sansa and I stand in the Throne Room. Our shoulders are pushed together so that I can feel Sansa trembling. She's worried, scarred, about what we're going to do. I take her hand tightly in mine and lead her down the steps and closer to the Iron Throne.

We stop at the line of the crowd right before the throne.

Joffrey sits upon the throne and the sight pierces me with hatred and – what I don't want to admit – fear. Beside him sits his mother and Clegane stands on his other side. Maester Pycelle is spewing some crap that I honestly don't care enough to listen to. I'm too busy glaring at _his royal highness_.

His eyes shift in our direction and I jump a little in my boots. Not because he's looking at me, but because he's smiling. My hands tighten and Sansa gives a little yelp before I release my death grip on her hand. I mumble a little apology and when I turn back towards the throne Joffrey's attention is focused elsewhere. The queen however has put her attention on me. That smile she had plastered on her face the other day is once more gleefully looking down on me. If I had my sword and would get beaten down by the God Cloaks, I'd run up there and smack her across the face.

"In the place of the traitor Eddard Stark," Ned's name pulls me into the babble of Maester Pycelles rambles. "It is the wish of his Grace that Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and warden of the West be appointed Hand of the King."

Fantastic. Just what we need, more Lannisters roaming around Kings Landing. And Tywin Lannister isn't just any Lannister, he's the one that makes my teeth clench so hard they'll break and my nails bury themselves so deep into my palms they'll come out the other side of my hand.

"Lastly," the old man continues off his paper. "In these times of treason and turmoil it is the view of the council that the life and safety of King Joffrey be of paramount importance."

The Queen stands up from her chair and calls out, "Ser Barriston Selmy."

The name peaks my interest, for I had met this man the day King Robert was attacked by the bore. It hadn't been until after our encounter that I recalled the familiarity of his name; even I know of the great warrior Ser Barriston the Bold. He is considered one of the greatest and strongest men to fight for the king – both the Mad King and King Robert – and was given charge as Commander of the Kings Guard. His name demands much respect, and when the older gentleman steps out of line of the guard before the throne and removes his helmet to kneel before the royal party I am honored to be standing so close to such a great man once more. One of the few great men remaining in Kings Landing.

"Rise Ser Barriston," the queen instructs. "You have served the realm long and faithfully. Every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest and look back with pride on all your many years of service."

Ser Barriston and I are not the only ones astonished to hear what is being implied. The entire room is a fit of whispers as the queens words take shape: she's relieving him of his position.

Go figures. The one man who actually deserves his position is being removed from it.

"Your Grace the King's Guard is a sworn brotherhood," Ser Barriston protests. "Our vows are taken for life! Only death relieves us of our sacred trust."

"Whose death?" the Queens voice cuts through the air. "Yours or your Kings?"

"You let my father die," Joffrey's voice slices through the crowd. "Your too old to protect anybody."

Ser Barriston eye's Joffrey coldly, as though there is something he desperately wants to say but can't. When he finally opens his mouth again it is pleading but quickly cut off by Queen Cersei again.

"The Council has determined that Ser Jamie Lannister would take your place as Lord Commander of the Kings Guard."

Fucking Lannisters…

"A man who profane his blade with the blood of the King he had sworn to protect!" I admire Ser Barriston for his courage. That is a statement no one has dared utter openly to the Queen herself.

"Be careful Ser," the queens voice drips with venom.

"We have nothing but gratitude for your long service good Ser," Varys pipes in from beside Lord Baelish on the far side of the Iron Throne. "You shall be given a stout keep beside the sea with servants to look after your every need."

"A hole to die in and men to bury me!"

No one can say anything to that. As the crowds whispers grow louder Ser Barriston does something astonishing: his hand reaches up towards the straps that secure his white cloak and he tugs them off.

"I am a knight!" he cries flinging the white fabric to the ground along with his helmet. "I shall die a knight!" He removes his gloves, armored sleeves, and gold plated vest with the sigil of the Kings Guard as well, flinging them into a pile at his feet.

"A naked knight apparently," the ferret faced Baelish jokes making the room erupt into laughter. The disrespect these people have… it disgusts me.

Rather suddenly Ser Barriston brandishes his sword out and every gold cloak in the room unsheathes their blades as well. The room is utterly silent except for the ringing of metal.

"Even now I could cut through the five of you like carving a cake!" the disrespected man cries out at his once fellow soldiers. But even he knows that's not entirely true. He thrusts his sword forward and it crashes to the stone floor.

"Here boy!" he cries. "Melt it down and add it to the others!"

Then he storms out. I pray that I never see his face again, for if I do I fear it will be mounted on a spike.

Once the doors have shut behind the old soldier a squire bellows out, "If any man in this hall has other matters to set before his Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence."

Now is the time. I turn to Sansa whose face is still pale and frightened. I take her hand tightly in mine to try and comfort her as much as I can.

"You have to go first," I whisper. "I am not high enough ranked."

She nods hesitantly and takes a few tiny steps towards the throne. When she starts to falter I give her a little push on her lower back.

"Your Grace," her voice is shivering but catches the attention of the hall.

"Come forward My Lady," Joffrey says, another smile making my teeth grind at his eyes on Sansa.

Sansa takes her place before the throne as the squire announces her name and title.

"Do you have some business with the King and the Counsel Sansa?" the queen asks with that damned fucking smile still sitting on her face like an apple tree in a field of oaks.

"I do," Sansa's voice has stabilized slightly, but just from her body you can tell she is frightened. She falls to her knees then and I can see the smile burn off of the queen's face.

Then she says it, just the way I told her to: "As it please your Grace I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark who is Hand of the King."

"Treason is a noxious weed," Maester Pycell bellows. "It should be torn out!"

"But if a weed is torn our incorrectly it will just regrow again."

All eyes shift from Sansa to me as I move towards the center of the hall and beside the frightened girl.

I eye the queen as I speak my next words. "Killing a man of his standing would not be a wise decision." I hide a grin when the golden haired woman purses her lips.

"Treason is treason!" Maester Pycell shouts. "It cannot be."

"Let them speak," Joffrey cuts in, surprising me slightly. "I want to hear what she says."

"Thank you your Grace," Sansa says, smiling cheerfully. She loves him. The foolish little thing.

"Do you deny Lord Starks crime?" Baelish questions and I try my best not to sound like a growling dog when I respond.

"No, My Lords."

"I know he must be punished," Sansa pipes up, still repeating what I told her. "All I ask is mercy. I know my Lord father would regret what he did."

"He was King Roberts friend and he loved him," I add. "You all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the King asked him."

"They must have lied to him. Lord Renly, or Lord Stannis, or somebody! Somebody, they must have lied!"

No Sansa! Don't stray from what I told you.

I half expect a harsh retaliation, someone defending someone else to put the blame on Ned. Instead Joffrey says, "He said I wasn't the King. Why did he say that?"

Sansa looks up to me, fear and panic in her eyes. I give her a tiny smile to give her some solace before turning back towards the throne. I step forward and say, "Lord Stark was badly injured and despite my advice took large doses of Milk of the Poppy for the pain. He wasn't entirely himself since then. Otherwise he never would have proposed such an idea."

"A child's faith for a father," Vary's pipes in. "Such sweet innocence. And yet they say wisdom yet comes from the mouths of babes." Thank the god's that Vary's is actually trying to help right now. He must want to keep Ned alive just as badly as we do. Even the foolishness of Ned's death isn't lost on the Spider.

"Treason is treason!" Maester Pycelle bellows again.

This isn't how I wanted this to go. None of the members of the council are showing any signs of changing their decision.

"Anything else?" Joffrey asks.

Suddenly Sansa rises from her feet and rushes up beside me.

"If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please, do me this kindness your Grace."

Well, now Ned is doomed. Sansa may be blind, but I am not. Joffrey has no affection for Sansa even in the slightest. However… his attention does lye on another thing.

I take another step forward so that I am practically in line with the Gold Cloaks guarding the throne.

"Your Grace," the words sound bitter on my tongue. "Please do this kindness for us. Lord Stark is just as much my father as Lady Sansa's." Then the world seems to slow down as my knees drop to the floor, then my hands, then my forehead touches the cold marble as I lay before the Iron Throne.

With every second I lay on this floor bowed before the royal brat my anger fumes. He has the Kingdom. He has power and wealth. He _wants_ to break me… but if he thinks that just because I'm bowed before him he can, he's more foolish than I thought. This isn't to satisfy him, this is to save Ned. I refuse to let him break me. I refuse to let him have me. I refuse.

"Rise," his voice finally breaks the air and I slowly pull myself onto my feet. I don't miss the look Clegane gives me; cold, harsh, unbelieving.

"Your sweet words have moved me." He turns form me to Sansa and clarifies, "But your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I'm the King. Or there'll be no mercy for him."

"He will," Sansa and I both utter together.

**So I had a guest post a review questioning Eliza's actions in the last chapter about how she just let Joffrey drag her down the hall and threaten her – and since I can't respond with a private message I thought I'll clarify it here. Well, even though she's a strong, sassy character that would usually fight back, with Joffrey it's harder. He's royalty and messing with him is basically stirring up trouble with more than she can handle and when she knows he's most likely going to become King in the next couple of hours... Unlike Ned and others she's smart enough to know when to pick a fight and when to just take it. In these circumstances she has to take it, at least for now ;) **


	17. Goodbye Father

**I am soooooo sorry for the long wait! It's just that this is such an important scene and I wanted to do it right. I kinda had a ton of writers block and I didn't want to work on this chapter until I knew I could do it justice. I hope I did and you all enjoy it.**

**Please leave comments. I love to hear your feedback and what you guys think will happen.**

**Thanks so much for reading and waiting for my fingers to hit the keyboard again! Enjoy!**

Goodbye Father

I haven't been able to sit still for a second.

It's only been a day since the events in the Throne Room and today Ned will be brought before the Sept of Balor for his confession. If he confesses. I haven't been allowed to see him once. It's driving me nuts. I know Ned. Unless he knows that Sansa is in greater danger than him, he'll stay honorable. He'll tell the truth… and die… Oh gods no! I can't even bear to think of it.

I snatch a pillow from my bed and fling it at the wall. Still not content I fling a golden candle holder too, the satisfying clash giving me a little peace of mind.

"A little restless aren't we?"

I spin around to see Varys standing in the doorway.

"What do you want Spider?" I snarl, turning around and slumping into a chair.

"I can understand why you'd be upset with me," he says, making his way into my room.

"I heard you just stood there," my tone is as sharp as my missing dagger. "You just let them take Ned. I thought you were on our side."

"I was. Ned was- is, an honorable man. He's one of the few people in Westeros who was worthy of his position. He had the right name, but you are his logical mind. His survival tactic. Without you Ned would be useless."

"How can you say that?" I cry. "Ned was a good and just man and leader."

"Good and just, yes. A leader? I'm afraid not."

I have nothing to say. Varys is right. I've been avoiding it and avoiding it and avoiding it, but… Ned isn't a leader. He's a follower. He always has been. He followed his father and brother. He followed Robert into war twice and then to Kings Landing. The fact that Ned has made it this long in Kings Landing after attempting to do the honorable thing at every turn is a miracle. If it hadn't been for his friendship with King Robert I'm sure Ned would have been arrested shortly after our confrontation with Jamie Lannister.

"I can see you're understanding it now."

I look up at the Spider with blurry, tear filled vision. I nod somberly at his sympathetic face before dropping my head back down.

"I spoke with Ned," Varys's voice speaks volumes after our brief silence and I jump to my feet.

"Is he alright?"

"As alright as anyone can be where he is. He's worried about you and Sansa."

Of course he is. Ned may have always put honor first, but family was always close behind.

"I told him what you and Lady Sansa have done, although weather he will confess or not is yet to be seen."

"What do you mean?"

"I believe his exact words were; 'I learned how to die a long time ago'."

Seven Hells Ned! My frustration is not contained by mere thought and my foot flings out and kicks my side table over, spilling golden plated cups and brushes across the floor. I turn away from Lord Varys and bite my lip to be sure he cannot see nor hear my sobs. Ned…

"I know you are concerned for him." I can tell that Lord Varys has moved closer towards me and I shift away towards my bed and lean up against the bedpost. "However, I did convey my concerns for the Lady Sansa before I left. I'm sure his concern for the young girl may alter his decision."

I let out a shaky sigh, not knowing whether to hope for the best or expect the worst.

"Thank you Lord Varys," I whisper. The bald man bows behind me and quickly scurries his way out of the room, his feet clinking against the objects scattered all over the floor of my room.

I slide down the pole and sit down on my bed. My eyes look through the open window at the blue sky, dancing birds, and the sound of people running around below. It seems like just any other day, but it's not. It's one of the worst days in my life and I can't think of anything I can do to make everything just stop and be better. I don't know what to do, so I just start singing quietly to myself.

Where do we belong, where did we go wrong  
If there's nothing here, why are we still here?

It's another time, it's another day  
Numbers they are new, but it's all the same  
Running from yourself, it will never change  
If you try you could die

Give us a little love, give us a little love  
We never had enough, we never had enough  
Give us a little love, give us a little love  
We never had enough, we never had enough

Pour it in a cup, try to drink it up  
Pour it in a well, you can go to hell  
We'll get it on the way

Aaaah

Where do we belong, where did we go wrong  
If there's nothing here, why are we still here?

Leave it by its pain, leave it all alone  
If I never turn, I will never grow  
Keep the door ajar when I'm coming home  
I will try, can't you see I'm trying

Give us a little love, give us a little love  
We never had enough, we never had enough  
Give us a little love, give us a little love  
We never had enough, we never had enough

Aaaah

Hmmmmm

I hum quietly and my eyelids flutter shut. I take comfort in the muffled darkness behind my lids and the sound of only my voice. For the first time since our capture I feel the tiniest – and I mean tiniest – aspect of peace.

"Another bloody song? What the fuck is that gonna do?"

And my peace is shattered.

I open my eyes but refuse to turn around and look at him.

"It's an old habit," I say over my shoulder. "It helps clear my head."

"That fucking habit isn't gonna save anyone."

I jump off the bed and turn around. Sandor stands hesitantly in my doorway, his face showing no emotion behind his scar. Although, I believe I see the slightest amount of pity in his eyes. It makes me want to rip them out of his deformed face.

"I know," I mumble, walking towards him, knowing that it's time to go to the Sept. "But it'll keep me from losing my mind."

I go to move past his towering, metallic form but his arm flings across the doorway preventing me from passing. As I turn my face to look at him the tip of my nose skims his armored arm.

"Don't do anything stupid girl," he says sternly.

A weak smile pecks the corners of my lips. I don't say anything and slip beneath his arm and into the hall. I hear his feet slamming close behind me as we make our way out of the castle and down the road to the Sept of Balor.

For most of the walk Sandor keeps his distance. It's only when we get nearer the crowd that he moves in close behind me, protectively leading me to the stage set up before the Sept where the royal family, small council, and Sansa wait.

As soon as we're clear of the crowd – a larger one than I expected, though now that I think on it they are expecting an execution so their interests must be peaked. On the steps to the stage I leave Sandors side as he pushes members of the crowd away and join Sansa. Her eyes are watery and red, and her hands tremble slightly as I take them in mine.

"He's going to be alright," she whispers barely loud enough for me to here. By her tone and body language it is clear she doesn't believe what she's saying, and a part of me doesn't believe it either. NO matter how many times I repeat it in my head I just can't believe it until it happens. Until Ned is safely on his way North.

"It's going to be alright," I say, squeezing her hands tightly. It is clearly a lie. No matter what happens today Sansa is losing her father.

"Yes," Sansa says with a weak smile. "Joffrey promised he'd let father go to the Wall. He'll keep his promise."

By all the gods I pray he does. He gave his word as King. I have to have faith in his honor… even if I believe a rock has more honor than that spoiled brat.

A horn sounds and I take my place beside Sansa on the high shelf of the stage, gripping her hand tighter. The queen, well, Queen regent now, takes her place on Sansa's other side. Joffrey stands a few feet away from his mother looking out towards the crowd. The four of us stand atop the high level of the stoned stage above everyone else.

Sandor marches past me and takes his place on the lower level of the stage, a few feet behind where Ned will soon be standing. I could swear I felt his hand brush against the back of mine, but I must have imagined it. I turn away from his cold, statue like stance and out towards the crowd as the bells continue to chime. Following the final bell the crowd erupts into a frenzy. And that's when I see him.

Ned looks tired and I can tell it hurts his eyes to be in the bright sunlight. His face is pale, except for the dark shadows visible under his eyes even from this distance. He walks with a heavy limp, the only thing preventing him from falling over is the guard at his side.

The guards start leading him through the crowd where people claw, throw gods know what in his direction, and I hear many people cry out the word 'traitor'. There's an aching hole in my stomach and if Sansa's hand wasn't so tightly held within mine I may have jumped off the stage and rushed to his side. The only thing I can do is follow Ned's weakened figure with my eyes, my lips parting with a desperate desire to scream out for the crowd to stop, but knowing that it would be both inappropriately dangerous and pointless.

I continue to watch his path until I see him stumble to a halt. I can see the dark black figure clearly in the crowd of greys and muted browns. It's Yoren.

Ned isn't stilled long. The guards quickly drag him along past Yoren but not before he shouts to the Watchman something that I would never hear. However, I don't have to hear what Ned says. After shouting out whatever it was he said, Ned flung his head towards the large statue of Balor in the center of the square. Yorens gaze shifts towards the statue and mine follow suit.

I gasp. In relief, shock, or joy I'm not sure. But when I see Arya crouched down atop the statues base my heart races in my chest.

She's safe. Arya is safe. Thank the gods.

The confusingly happy moment is pulled away quickly when I feel Sansa's hand tighten around mine and her other one pull on my inner elbow drawing me closer to her. As I bring my attention back to where it belongs Ned is only a few feet before us, being dragged up the steps.

His eyes and mine lock. I cannot say what I need to, but I know my eyes express more than any words ever could.

Please Ned. You must confess. For Sansa's sake and your own. Please.

Our gazes are torn apart as the guards drag Ned towards the center of the stage and direct him before the crowd. As the guards leave his sides the crowd becomes silent.

A bell chimes once, and then Ned opens his mouth to speak.

"I am Eddard Stark. Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," Ned begins, but before he says anything else he turns towards Sansa and I.

I can see the pain, the worry, the fear in his eyes.

My hand tightens around Sansas and I nod my head. A small, weak, pained smile barley a whisper across my lips. Ned turns back to the crowd and continues.

"I come before you to confess my treason. In the sight of gods and men."

I squeeze my eyes shut. Knowing I can't block out the sound, but I can at least block out the sight of watching one of the most honorable men I know confess a lie, shattering what little integrity he has left to his name.

"I betrayed the faith of my King, and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to murder his son and seize the throne for myself."

The crowd once more flew into an uproar. Every voice screaming out 'traitor!' 'traitor!' 'traitor!'. Suddenly a rock flew up and crashed into the side of Ned's temple. This time I had to be the one to restrain Sansa as she nearly stepped forward out of sheer worry for her father. Ned stumbled a little, off-balanced by his injured leg. I'm almost grateful when Sandor steps up and helps Ned to stand once again.

"Let the high Septon and Balor the Blessed bear witness to what I say," Ned continues, ignoring the crowds growling.

I can see Ned choking on the words before they even pass his lips. It hurts me to even hear the words uttered, so I know it must pain Ned a great deal to say them himself.

"Joffrey Baratheon," Ned declares, "is the one true heir to the Iron Throne. By the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm."

An unexpected sound comes from the crowd at Ned's words. Not of joy or anger, but of contempt. They aren't pleased or welcome to Joffrey's reign, and it gives me much pleasure in this precise moment to hear them agree with my thinking.

"As we sin, so do we suffer," Maester Pycelle's jittery voice bellows out over the crowd silencing it. "This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men. The gods are just, but beloved Balor taught us that they can also be merciful." The old man then turns towards Joffrey and asks, "What is to be done with this traitor, your Grace?"

The moment of truth. Will Joffrey keep his word?

I look from the young blonde's smugly smiling face as he waves to the crowd, towards her Excellency who looks resigned. She wants to keep Ned alive just as much as I do. That gives me enough reassurance.

The crowd is crying out, but with a few words Joffrey silences them.

"My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Nights Watch," he says. "Stripped of all titles and powers. He would serve the realm in permanent exile." The boy King then turns towards Sansa and myself as he continues. "And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

Sansa smiles at him confidently, but when I look back towards Joffrey it is not Sansa he is looking at, but me. With a sick glee in his eyes he smiles at me before turning back towards the crowd.

"But they have the soft hearts of women," he bellows.

My hand falls away from Sansa's and I shuffle a few inches away from her side.

"So long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished!"

His voice rings in my ears.

"Sir Ilyn," he cries. "Bring me his head!"

I'm moving before the guards behind me have the chance to stop me. I jump from the high stage down to the low one where Ned is standing. I rush forward, my hand clawing at my side for my imaginary sword.

I'm a few feet away when large, armored, heavy arms come crashing around my shoulders and stomach. I try to push them back. Flailing my own arms about, clawing at skin and hair. Kicking my feet as the arms lift me up into the air. I manage to wriggle free but only for an instant. The arms encircle me once again, this time being sure to secure my hands at my side. It doesn't stop me from fighting though.

I propel myself forward with all my strength and I manage to tug whoever's holding me another foot forward but that is as far as I get.

I don't stop fighting, not for a single second.

I don't stop crying, not for a single second.

I don't stop screaming at the world to just stop.

I can't hear anything. Not the roar of the crowds, or the sound of my own voice.

Every inch of my body is burning as I watch Ilyn Pain unsheathe Ice from Ned's fur covered sheath and trudge over to where Ned is being held down by two guards. His hair blows over his face, blocking it from my view.

I push forward again, catching the armored arms off guard and I propel a few more inches forward before being halted once more.

"NOOOOOO!" I finally hear my voice screeching out. Tears burning the inside of my eyelids and the tiny cuts in my cheeks where the armored arms have scratched.

"STOP IT! PLEASE! STOOOP!"

His head tilts upward and he looks out towards the crowd. Then over towards where Sansa is screaming behind me. Then at me.

His face is blank, empty off all things. But his eyes smile as they look on me.

_I told you, I'm not leaving your side._

_After you can assure me the girls are safe and out of harm's way you can remain there._

_Do you promise?_

_Yes Eliza, I promise._

I understand.

"I promise," I whimper as more tears fall down my face.

I watch as Ned turns his head back towards the crowd.

I watch as Ilyn Pain raises Ice above Ned's head.

And I keep watching until I see Ned's head hit the stoned grown and roll away.


	18. The Bargain

**So college has given me no time for anything and then my job last summer gave me even less. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I look forward to writing more, for season two is one of my favorites and it'll include some of my favorite scenes! It was also get really dark and twisty! **

The Bargain

It's almost like everything is moving in slow motion and all sound has been swallowed by the sky. Utter silence fills the wind. The only thing I can hear is my racing heart and heavy breathing.

The crowds still crying out, cheering triumphantly as Ilyn Pain holds up Ned's decapitated head for everyone to see. Their cry is soundless to my ears as I watch the blood drip to the ground.

My nails scrape against the metal of the arms surrounding me, still holding me to the earth even though I feel frozen there. I'm not fighting anymore. I'm just… trapped. Frozen in the horror. The horror of watching the man I loved, the man who was the closest thing I had to a father die right before my eyes. And I couldn't do anything to stop it. I've never felt so helpless.

Blood drips from the tip of Ice as the crowd erupts into a silent cry of justice.

I feel the arms around me loosen and one of the hands comes up to the top of my head and pulls me closer to the metal breast plate of his chest. I knew it was Sandor then, and I let myself fall into him. Limp and empty, still staring at the display before me. Unable to look away. Transfixed.

My heart still thundered but my breathing began to steady as the cool metal chilled my skin.

Everything began to slowly pick up speed then. The crowd became a small murmur in the background. The whispers of the officials behind me began to take form. It was the large thump however that pulled me fully back into consciousness. I jumped to my feet, pushing Sandors arms away.

Sansa was splayed out on the stone and Varys spun around to make sure she was alright. I bolted over towards the slab and pushed Varys out of my way as I jumped onto the second level.

"Sansa?" My voice was sturdy, taking on the initiative the situation required me to have, even if it was a false face.

I felt her forehead, which was smolderingly hot. A small snatch of blood was blossoming at her temple where she'd crashed into the ground. I brought her head onto my lap and tore a piece of cloth from her dress to wipe away the red.

"Dad…" Sansa weakly mumbled, her eyelids fluttering open for an instant before closing again.

I sighed with relief and pressed the cloth closer to her temple.

Ned's face kept flashing across my vision. His eyes. His pleading eyes. 'Take care of my children' they seemed to say.

"I promise," I mumbled under my breath as I tucked some loose strands of Sansa's auburn hair behind her ear.

Remembering, my head flung upward and my eyes scanned the crowd in search of Arya. She was no longer perched on the base of the statue. Knowing her she must have rushed forward, Needle clutched in her little hand, in hopes of somehow helping her father. I will be forever grateful she never made it towards the stage. Towards capture. I only pray that whatever, or whoever, stopped her will aid her, hide her, take care of her in my stead. I make a promise to myself that I will find her as soon as I am able.

"Is she alright?" Varys drags me back from the crowd.

I can't bring myself to speak so I nod my head, assuring him that Sansa is fine. A small cut to the temple. Easily fixed. She'll be fine. She'll be fine… she'll be fine…

Who am I kidding? She's not fine. She'll never be fine again.

I pull her head up into my chest and cradle it, hoping that somehow this will give her even an inkling of comfort. But I know it won't.

"I can't," Sansa whimpered through her tears. "I can't do it Eliza." She wiped at her smoldering red eyes that were too dry to shed another tear. She'd been up all night sobbing into my shoulder and it showed. Her face was pale, her lips were chapped, and dark bags hung below her eyes.

Joffrey had instructed us to attend court because he wished to speak with us afterward. When Sansa refused to let her ladies maids attend to her, screaming and shouting that she wouldn't leave her quarters, Lannister guards – including Meryn Trant – arrived at her room telling us that if she refused to leave on our own we would be escorted at sword point by word of the King. Sansa's stubbornness almost turned that into a reality. Luckily I managed to calm her down; and telling her that these men would most likely drag her out there in just her night dress helped as well.

She sat quietly at her dressing table fiddling with pins and brushes, her shoulders occasionally trembling. I wanted to let her sit there. Take every second she needed to pull herself together, but Trant's damned pacing outside our door made it hard for me to let her. When his feet quickened and I heard the sound of metal squealing I knew time was up.

"Sansa," I whispered, delicately placing my hand on her shoulder so I wouldn't frighten her. "We need to go now." She nodded slightly and pushed herself up from her chair.

"Wait," I said as she attempted to move past me. She halted and I stepped in front of her and looked her in the face again. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes still roared red. I pushed some stray strands of hair from her face and brushed her cheek with my fingers. "You can do this Sansa. You just need to stay strong." Her head plopped down as she mumbled her agreement.

I stuck my finger under her chin and forced her to look me in the eye. "I will do everything I can to take care of you Sansa. I promise, I won't let anything bad happen to you." A tiny smile sprouted at the corner of her lips, and I know that'll be as much as I'll get from her now. I take her hand in mine and lead her towards the door.

When I open it, Meryn Trant sneers at us. "It's about fucking time," he grumbles.

I ignore him and shuffle Sansa past him and towards the Great Hall.

When we arrive in the Great Hall a man is seated on the floor before the Iron Throne with an instrument at his feet. It doesn't take me long to understand why. The lyrics he squeaks out tell the story of the most recent events occurring in Kings Landing. Singing of a lion queen who destroyed a man and "the bore did all the rest". Cerise sits beside the throne, glaring at the man with daggers in her eyes. He must not have been thinking in his right mind if he's been going around Kings Landing singing a song like that. You can see the regret in his eyes as he finishes. The entire hall sits quietly, petrified, until a clap of applause erupts from the throne.

Joffrey sits triumphantly, leaning nonchalantly on the armrest of his enormous throne, a snarky smile plastered across his face.

"Very amusing," he chirps. "Isn't it a funny song?" he asks, not expecting an answer. "Thank you for your rendition. I imagine it was even better received at that tavern."

"I'm so sorry your Grace," the minstrel apologizes, rising to his feet. "I'll never sing it again. I swear."

"Tell me," Joffrey cuts him off, "which do you favor? Your fingers or your tongue?"

"Your Grace?" the minstrel questions, fear seeping out of his skin.

"Fingers or your tongue?" the boy king repeats. "If you got to keep one which would it be?" The minstrel gurgles a muttered response, too horrified to come up with a reply. That's when Joffrey's demeanor changes entirely. His tone goes ice cold and hard as he states, "Or I could just cut your throat."

"Every man needs hands your Grace," the petrified man finally responds.

"Good," Joffrey replies, that gleeful smile once more smacked across his face. "Tongue it is."

"Your Grace, please!" the man cries, and I feel Sansa stiffen at my side as the Lannister guards make their way towards his trembling form. The poor soul keeps crying out for mercy as Joffrey appoints Illyn Payne to perform the gruesome deed. The mute doesn't hesitate and quickly makes his way over to the struggling musician, wrenching his knife from its sheath as he stomps over.

Sansa trembles beside me as I take her hand in mine. "Turn away," I whisper. "You don't have to see this." Her head tilts slightly so shes looking into the crook of my neck, but I can't pull me hateful gaze away from it. Illyn Pain places his blade into the fire as Joffrey puts the damned crown onto the throne and begins walking out of the hall. As he passes the gruesome task occurring behind him he catches my eyes. That sickly smile resurfaces and he changes his course so that he is heading towards Sansa and I.

"Sansa, you have to pick up your head now." She raises it again just as Joffrey comes up before us.

"You look quite nice," the boy king says as he stops before us. Sansa remembers her manners, bowing and thanking Joffrey for his complement.

Then his eyes shift to me, scanning me up and down, his smile faltering slightly. "Still dressed in trousers I see," he remarks. "I think you'd look nicer in some southern silks though."

"I prefer my own attire, my Lord," I remark coldly.

"Your Grace," he corrects. "I'm King now."

The cries of the minstrel echo behind his golden Lannister hair and my stomach rolls. My eyes unconsciously drift behind him, which is when I see Trant and Sandor standing a few feet adjastent their new king.

"Walk with me," Joffrey orders. "I want to show you something." He moves past us and Sansas hand slips out of mine as she quietly follows. I stay still however and watch as Sansa obediently follows Joffrey and Trant out of the throne room.

"What are you waiting for?" Sandors voice questions beside me.

I turn my head and look up into the scarred side of his face.

"Do as you're bid," he instructs.

"The day I do as I'm bid by a spoiled brat like Joffrey, is the day I cease being me."

"The day you don't do as the King tells you, is the day you end up like your beloved Lord Stark."

His words are cold and harsh, but I can't help but notice the quirk in his lips at my brazenly bold declaration. However, my heart catches in my throat at the mention of Ned and I do my best not to show it, but I know Sandor can tell his words hit me hard. I turn, quickening my pace so that I can catch up with Sansa. Sandor is close at me heels as we make our way down the corridor. I am walking so fast, my eyes fixed on Sansa, that I don't realize where we are until it's too late.

"No! Please, no!" Sansa cries. I try to rush up to her but Sandor holds me at bay. Meryn Trant grasps her tightly by the shoulders, forcing her to face the pikes mounted on the castles wall.

"This one's your father. Look at it and see what happens to traitors," Joffrey chirps, walking onto the bridge between the walkway and the wall, pointing up towards one of the spikes that I can't bring myself to look at. My free hand instinctively reaches at my empty belt for a throwing dagger.

"You promised to be merciful," Sansa cries through her tears.

"I was," The blonde brat replies. "I gave him a clean death."

I fight against Sandors arm and he wraps the other one around my torso. I hiss, and bite my lip closed to prevent myself from cursing at the little, royal brat.

"Please," Sansa begs. "Let me go home. I won't do any treason I swear."

"Mother say's I'm still to marry you, so you'll stay here, and obey."

Sansa still refuses to look up. Her eyes transfixed on the floor beneath her feet. I try to tug free again, but Sandor has to tight a hold on me.

"Look at him!" Joffrey roars, and I pain scorches through me as I watch Sansa lift her head and look up at the decapitated head of her own father, a glazed look in her eyes.

Sansa and Joffrey's voices become faint whispers in my ears as I finally let my own eyes filter up to the wall. Ned's head isn't the only one along its border. Septons is two down from his and Jorey's is beside hers. Every head of our northern party is mounted on a spike. Every face I've come to know for the last four years, bloody and pale. I feel my body tremble.

"And after my armies kill your traitor brother, I'm going to give you his head as well!"

I'm about to cry out and curse the cunt when I am shocked into silence by Sansa's voice: "Or maybe he'll give me yours."

At first pride roars within me, but it is quickly smothered by terror. Fear surges within me as I look at her unyielding face and Joffreys astounded one. But his surprise quickly melts away into aggravation and Sandors arms tighten around me before I even have the chance to attempt escaping them.

"My mother always tells me a king should never strike his lady," his eyes darken. "Ser Meryn."

I grind my teeth as Trant turns Sansa to face his and backhands her hard across the face with his iron glove and then slaps her again with his open palm. Her head flings back and forth like a slab of meat being pounded softer. When I see a trail of blood start dripping from her lip and down her chin I can't hold it in anymore.

"If you lay a hand on her again I swear I'll run you through!" I fling my legs up and use every ounce of strength I have to try and break Sandors grip.

Trant truns, his face contorted in rage. "You dare speak to the Kings guard like that?" he booms.

I glare at him and growl, "I wasn't speaking to you."

Trants eyes go wide as he realizes who my threat was aimed at. "You bitch," he seethes, lunging for me.

"Enough Ser Meryn," Joffrey declares, before Trants fist has the chance to connect with my jaw. He saunters over to me with a cocky grin. "Lady Eliza tends to feel the most pain when viewing another's. Harming her would only fuel her anger, rather than cause her pain." He smiles and makes his way back out towards the bridge, flinging his arm up towards the spikes. "Why not let her and Lady Sansa enjoy the view."

I'm glaring so hard at him that I don't notice Sansa step forward. Her arm outraised, ready to… No! Sansa!

The hand on my shoulder vanishes and reappears on Sansa's before I can blink.

"Here girl," Sandor says, handing Sansa a handkerchief. He wipes the blood off of her lip before placing it into her open, outstretched palm.

"Will you obey now? Or do you need another lesson?" Joffrey questions her and my stomach rolls as Sansa nods. He smirks triumphantly. "I'll look for you in court, he decrees, making his way off the bridge and over to where I stand.

"It seems I have finally found your weak spot," he chuckles into my ear. "I think I will enjoy toying around with your beloved sister."

My fist is clenched tightly at my side as Joffrey trots away with Meryn Trant closely at his side. However, Sandor lingers, whispering to Sansa. I can't hear what it is he says over the roaring going around in my head, but I watch as he refuses to accept the folded cloth back from Sansa before he starts walking over towards me.

"Do you still think you can protect her by swinging your fists in the air?" he asks, and I have nothing to respond with. "Don't cause a mess and your and her life here may be a little easier." He walks past me only to stop a few inches behind and whisper, "Though defiance in silence and trivial occasions can sometimes cause the most damage."

As his boots disappear down the corridor I stare at the ginger girl before me. She places the cloth to her lip again as another splurt of blood oozes out her lip. With her pale skin and small stature she looks almost like a glass doll. Easily shatterable. Easily toyed with and hurt.

Even if she were to, how? How could just doing as we're bid be enough for someone… something, like Joffrey? Since the first day I laid eyes on him I knew there was something wrong with him, but I never imagined that he would go this far. His behavior is almost as terrifying as that of the Mad Kings… will he ever be satisfied?

I look up at Sansa as she plays with the popped stitches of Sandors cloth, her blood still brightly glued to its brownish color.

'_I think I will enjoy toying around with your beloved sister'_

What can I do? How can I protect her?

_'I'm going to be king soon. Soon I can do what I want… _take_ what I want. As well as who I want.'_

The countless touches and disturbing glares roll across my mind. The leers and disgustingly vulgar smiles he has cast my way.

I look to Sansa; sweet, young, crumbling Sansa. Then I look up to the decaying carcass of my beloved Lord. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.

The door to Joffreys chambers click shut behind me as one of the servant exits after having announced me. The blonde demon sits on his bed fiddling with the bits and pieces of a crossbow, a strangely gleeful smile across his face at my unannounced presence in his chambers.

"Is there something you need, My Lady?" he asks cheekily.

I cease gnawing at my lip and force my hands stiff at my sides. For the first time I bow before him, so low all I can see is the boots on my feet.

"I'm here to ask mercy, Your Grace."

"A rather common occurance for you northerners isn't it?" he chuckles gleefuly, no doubt relishing in this power. "Though I never picked you for one to beg."

"I'm not begging!" I react on instince, my voice rising as I right my position. The fire in my eyes aimed directly at his smug face. Though this act doesn't seem to surprise he so much as delight him; the grin on his face growing as his eyes stroll around my body.

"Who's mercy is it that you ask for?" he questions, his tongue picking at something in his teeth. "It can't be Lord Starks like before," he says, rising to his feet, twirling an arrow between his fingers. "So who?"

"For My Lady," I reply as he comes closer to me.

"Sansa is My Lady as well," he coos. "She is to be my wife, and I shall cherish her. Why should you need to ask mercy for so lucky a girl?" He doesn't even try to hide the sarcasm in his tone.

He is now standing only a foot from me. I glare into his eyes and, without fear, say, "Because I know you. I know what you'll do to her, and I will. Not. Let. That. Happen."

He chuckles, still twirling that damned fucking arrow. "I cannot break the marriage agreement. My mother will not allow that."

"It is not that I am asking." Though I wish I could. I know no matter what that is not within my power.

His brows raise in curiosity and he stops twirling his fingers. "Then what?"

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. When I open them again I speak sternly and without hesitation: "If you swear to never harm Lady Sansa, to never hurt her in any way," I stop and tighten my fists at my sides. "I will do _anything_ you wish of me."

I can tell it takes a moment for my statement to sink in, but the instant he comprehends what I am offering Joffery burst into hysterical laughter.

"This!" he cries out through gasps. "This is priceless! The strong, empowered Eliza bending the knee!" When he finally stops laughing, he closes the distance between us to half an inch. "Eliza," he trails the tip of the arrow lightly against my cheek, smiling merrily. "You will be the greatest plaything I have ever known." The arrow stops and pierces into my skin, but I refuse to flinch, this makes him smile even brighter.

He pulls the arrowhead away and cups my cheek in his hand. "I will enjoy breaking you."


	19. The Bastards Name Day

THE KINGS NAME DAY

Two weeks.

It's been two weeks since Joffrey agreed to our bargain.

Two weeks where at the end of the day I go to Joffrey's chambers and he does what he likes with me.

Sometimes its just watching him play with his "toys": firing arrows or swinging swords. Others he asks me to sing, calling me his "pretty little bird". But every night, without question, a part of me is marked. A cut from a knife, a burn from molten metal, an arrow through the skin. Before I leave hs is always sure to hurt me.

Tonight will be no different.

I sit on a chest in the room as he shoots his arrows at the portrait of his father handing on the wall. I sing:

"There's a reckoning a-coming  
and it burns beyond the grave  
its lead inside my belly  
cause my soul has lost its way  
Oh, Lazarus  
How did your debts get paid  
Oh, Lazarus  
Were you so afraid

When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you  
with the hounds of hell coming after you  
I've got blood, I've got blood on my name  
when the fires, when the fires  
are consuming you  
and your sacred stars won't be guiding you  
I've got blood, I've got blood  
blood on my name

Not a spell gonna be broken  
with a potion or a priest  
When you're cursed you're always hoping  
that a prophet would be grieved  
Oh, Lazarus  
How did your debts get paid  
Oh, Lazarus  
Were you so afraid

Can't you see I'm sorry  
I will make it worth your while  
Made a dead mans money  
you can see it in my smile  
Oh, Lazarus  
How did your debts get paid  
Oh, Lazarus  
Were you so afraid

When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you  
and the whole wide world coming after you  
I've got blood, I've got blood on my name  
when the fires, when the fires are consuming you  
and your sacred stars wont be guiding you  
I've got blood, I've got blood  
blood on my name

mmm-mmm  
it wont be long  
til I'm dead and gone  
it wont be long  
til I'm dead and gone

watch the fires rise under my skin  
down to the bone  
scorching my soul  
nowhere to run  
nowhere to run  
nowhere to run

When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you  
with the hounds of hell coming after you  
I've got blood, I've got blood on my name  
when the fires, when the fires are consuming you  
and your sacred stars won't be guiding you  
I've got blood, I've got blood on my name

When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you  
and the whole wide world coming after you  
I've got blood, I've got blood  
blood on my name"

The words are like my own defiance: screaming out that the reckoning I'll bring will be drenched in the blood of every last Lannister I can get my hands on. Including the bastard king before me.

"Interesting choice," Jaffrey declairs after an arrow zooms into the painted belly of his 'father'. "I've never heard it before. The thought of all that blood left in the singers wake…" A sick grin smooths across his face.

He turns away from his target practice and saunters over to me. I sit still as his hands twist into my hair. "Why don't you style your hair too?" His fingers twist around tighter, causing my skull to pinch, but I don't show it on my face.

"You commanded I wear the clothes Your Grace, you never said anything in regards to my hair."

His fingers drop from my tangled locks to the silken fabric of my shoulder. He traces his hands down my arm with the light blue fabric and stops when he reaches my bare wrist. Poking out from beneath the yellow trim of the underlayer is a red scab the size of my index finger; one of the many burns from a few days ago thanks to an iron bar so hot it burned crimson before it touched my skin.

"Not even this got a whimper from you," he says, pursing his lips in annoyance. Suddenly his hand shoots up and he squeezes my face between his fingers. "Do you not feel pain?"

I have no response that would please him, so I say nothing and his hand eventually leaves my face.

He moves over towards the mantle place where row upon row of daggers and knives gleam from the flames. "Come here," he commands without even looking at me. I mentally prepare myself for the pain that is to come and the defiance I will display in my silence.

As I come to his side he points his crossbow down to the rows of weapons at our feet lying on the rug. "Will any of these hurt?" he asks. I say nothing. "How about this?" he questions, raising the crossbow into my face. I say nothing.

I see the disappointment in his face. "No," he sighs, letting the weapon fall back down to his side. "No. None of these will do. You're too strong or these." He sighs and stares down at his useless toys and I stifle a triumphant smile.

"Wait," his sudden declaration surprises me. He looks on me with a sickening gleeful expression. "I have an idea." He flings his crossbow away and reaches out and grabs my arm, tugging the fabric up to reveal my cut and bruised forearm. Without warning he tugs me forward and towards the ground; I feel the sharp metal on the floor cut through my dress and into my skin as he yanks me further forward, towards the fire. Realization hits just before the feeling does.

A tiny yelp escapes me before my arm is completely engulfed in the flames. I bite down on my lip so hard I can taste and smell the blood as it pools down my face and onto the lap of my dress. Tears glisten in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall, forcing them back into my sockets.

I don't know how long he holds my arm there but when he finally lets it go I instinctually wrap the cool fabric of my dress around it and run to the night table where a pitcher of water sits. I dump half of it onto my wounded arm and hear the hiss of my skin cooling; I swallow the vomit that comes up when the smell reaches my nose.

Suddenly and arm grasps my shoulder and flings me around. Joffrey's face is smoldering almost as red as my arm when he screams: "What did I tell you?" His free hand grabs me by my chin as he inspects my still bleeding lip. "I will not have your face marked!" I half expect him to hit me, but I know he wont. For some reason after that first day when he cut me with the arrowhead he refuses to harm my face. Not even the slightlest bruse. And every time I bite my lip or harm myself he gets so angry I think he might chop off one of my fingers.

His hand lets go of my still stinging arm before shoving me out of his way. "Get out," he commands, climbing into his bed.

I bow slightly, my arm screaming as I do, before making my way towards the door.

"Eliza," he shouts from his bed and I stop. "Tomorrow is my Name Day. I want you hear right after the feast."

I do not verbally reply for if I do I'm sure that my voice will crack in pain. Instead I bow my head once more than bolt out the door, down the hall, and to my tiny chambers adjacent to Sansa's.

No sooner do I get in there do I run to my small medical bag I stole from Master Pycelles chambers and search for anything to stop this burning feeling in my arm. When I locate a bottle of lotion tinted green I pop it open and smear the entire container onto my arm. As the cooling sensation seeps into my skin I let out a long, relived sigh. I quickly inspect the area to see how bad the burns are and am grateful to see that they aren't as bad as I'd thought. I'll probably scar, but it'll only be slightly raised and bumpy like… like Sandor.

How long has it been since I've spoken to him?

I've seen him, always at Joffrey's side, but I haven't actually spoken to him since that day two weeks ago. I don't think I realized until right now how much I missed his company.

A pit deep in my stomach suddenly feels empty and pained at the realization of this loss.

"I'll see him tomorrow during the tourney," I say, trying to sooth myself. Maybe then I'll get the chance to speak with him again. Strangely, I have really missed his company.

The first smile I've had in a while graces my lips as I wrap my arm in cloths.

"AHHHHHHH!"

I'm up and running towards Sansa's rooms, grasping a robe and wrapping it around me as I do. When I open the door shes seated up in bed drenched in sweat and crying.

"Was it a dream?" she asks when she sees me in the doorway.

I look at her with a pained expression and her head falls.

"Sansa," I say delicately as I make my way to the bed. She's had a nightmare nearly every night since that day. "It's alright," I coo, wrapping my arms around her. "I'm here. I promise nothing will happen to you." I pet her hair delicately and see the bubbly flesh of my fingers. Slowly, without her noticing I tug the cloth of the robe over my injured hand.

I may have made this bargain for Sansa, but I refuse to give her the guilt of knowing about it.

"I want to go home," she cries, dropping her head down into my lap.

"I know," I say sadly, wishing I could take her home. My hand keeps moving, running my fingers through her hair, and before I know it I'm singing:

"We should go to sleep now, You should stay the night  
I'll be up to watch the world around us live and die  
Lying on the grass now, dancing for the stars  
Maybe one will look on down and tell us who we are  
We might fall, we might fall, we might fall, Sansa we might fall  
We might fall, we might fall, we might fall, Sansa we might fall  
I could join the circus, and you could sell your hair  
I could learn to walk the line or learn to train the bears  
Tell me are we crazy, did you like the cold  
Tell me are you comfortable if comfortable at all  
We might fall, we might fall, we might fall, Sansa we might fall  
We might fall, we might fall, we might fall, Sansa we might fall  
Now that we are older, I remember you. Reaching out to show me all the things that I must do  
Now that we are older, I remember youth, now that we are close to death and close to finding truth  
We might fall, we might fall, we might fall, Sansa we might fall  
We might fall, we might fall, we might fall, Sansa we might fall  
Sha-la la, sha-la-la, sha-la-la oh  
Sha-la-la, sha-la-la, sha-la-la,  
oh we might fall, fall"

I'm grateful to hear he tiny little snores as my humming stops.

"I'm so sorry Sansa," I say silently gazing down at her sleeping face which still looks so pained. "I wish there was more I could do."

Everyone stares while Sandor bashes his opponent with his shield and rather large spiked mace. The poor knight is already so small in stature compared to Sandor, but with all that force behind every one of the giant mans blows I'm surprised the tiny metal boy before him hasn't been crushed under the pressure. Even from this distance I can hear the man crying and whimpering though his helmet, flailing his arm out with his own miniscule weapon. Not one blow even strikes Sandor before he knocks both the mans shield and weapon from his grip before the fool stumbles back and falls over the edge of their fighting field – the tiny walkway of a rampart looking out over the city.

The poor man hits the ground nearly sixty feet below him with a loud clank, whilst the crowd above cheers triumphantly at his bloody defeat.

Off to my right Joffrey rises from his seat of honor to look down into the pit where the body bleeds profusely onto the stones. A elated smile adorning his face.

"Well struck," he mumbles to himself before repeating it louder for Sandor and the rest of the audience to hear. Sandor removes his helmet before strutting out of the fighting area.

I watch him strut past bodies, making his way over to where I stand: the King's pavilion area in which to view the small tourney in honor of the King's Name Day. Beneath the fabric shielding us from the sun are the princess Myrcella and prince Tommen – along with the few servants and handmaidens that attend to them – Joffrey, and Sansa whose face is still so pale she looks like a ghost. I stand beside her, every so often allowing my hand to slip comfortingly upon her shoulder, though I know there is little comfort truly earned from it.

Joffrey turns towards us and eyes me, a small smirk clear on his face and a cunning gleam in his eye. He then turns to Sansa. "Did you like that?" he asks.

"It was well struck Your Grace," she replies in an almost robotic tone.

"I already said it was well struck," he snarls back. I cause a shift in the air forcing him to look up at him, daring him with my eyes to turn on our agreement. Meryn Trant is only a few paces beside me. I can easily grab his sword and slit his throat before anyone could stop me, and after having done that I couldn't care what happens to me.

He rolls his shoulders and pulls away from Sansa – I've won this round – before crying out for the tourney to continue. Across from us a squire shouts out a name and an armored knight saunters into the fighting area, however when he cries out the name of the opponent no one walks out. The squire shouts again, but again, no one walks out.

"Here I am!" a voice bellows off to my left and all eyes turn to the rather round man who's running down the stairs and towards the Kings pavilion area. When he gets within spitting distance he stumbles and drops his helmet and the strange spear he had been holding. He awkwardly scurries around chasing them before lifting his head and apologizing for his tardiness.

"Are you drunk?" Joffrey asks rather unbelievably.

Of course he is. Never mind the smell coming off of him, he can hardly stand. He sways as the wind blows past him for fucks sake. Yet still he denies it, claiming only to have had a few cups of wine.

A chill runs up my spine and I find myself turning to Joffrey. A strange air has come about him as he states: "That's not much at all. Please, have another."

"Are you sure Your Grace?" the idiot asks and my eye roll is over before I have the chance to stop it.

"Yes," Joffrey insists, and the nervous feeling in my stomach intensifies. What in the Seven Hells is he planning? "Have two. Have as much as you like."

The stupid ignorant fool thanks Joffrey for the "honor" and I can't help but pity him. And then I see it. That dark turn in Joffreys eye when he looks at Trant.

"Ser Meryn help Ser Dantos celebrate my Name Day. See that he drinks his fill."

The unsuspecting off is quickly knocked to his feet as two gurads come up to help Trant. One guard holds the robust mans arms behind his back while also forcing his head to look up at the sky. Trant then shoves an old bugel horn deep down the mans throat, while the spare guard pores a keg of whine into the horn like a funnel.

I can hear the pitiable man gurgle as wine fills his airways making it harder and harder for him to breath. If this keeps going he will drown from the inside.

"Stop!" I cry and then realize the mistake I've made.

"What did you say?" I hear Joffrey snarl behind me. I slowly turn to see him glaring ruthlessly at me. "Did you just say I can't?" he questions, and I watch his eyes trail towards my arm. I tug the fabric of my sleeve down lowever to cover the cloth wrapped around my burned skin and realize I may be in for a far worse wound later this evening. It has been a long time since I have outwardly spoken out against Joffrey, he will not take this offense lightly. I just hope he'll put the blame on me and not Sansa.

Sansa's voice breaks our staring contest as she timidly, but somehow strongly, says, "I'm sure Eliza only meant good will. In the North it is bad luck to kill a man on your Name Day." I'm almost shocked to hear the words escape her lips; she sounds almost exactly like Catelyn. Except for the slight tremble in her hands as the lay fisted in her lap.

"What kind of stupid peasant superstition is that!" Joffrey spits, once more turning to the sight behind me. Though I can still see the agitation and fury in his eyes when they look past me.

Another voice jumps in however. "The girl is right," Sandor speaks from the other side of the pavilion. "What a man sows on his Name Day he reaps all year."

This new fear that he may have to pay for this kill forces him to command the guards and Trant to stop. When the horn is removed the oaf falls forward and wine spills from his open mouth like a fountain. Many women in the groud cringe and turn their faces away in disgust, but not I.

"Have him thrown into the dungeons," Joeefrey commands. "I'll have him killed tomorrow, the fool."

Then an idea hits me.

"He is a fool Your Grace," I say as coyly as I can. "Perhaps as a fool he will please Your Grace far more than he would as a knight."

His fingers twirl around his chin as he contemplates my statement. "Perhaps," he says, then looks gleefully at the Knight behind me. "Do you hear that? From this day on you shall be my new fool." The deplorable man gives his thanks before being dragged out by the knights that held him down.

No sooner does the man get dragged away and I resume my place beside Sansa, who boldly takes my hand in hers, does a new voice enter the pavilion.

"Beloved nephew!"

Lord Tyrion saunters his way through the crowd and towards us, an obvious sell-sword at his side. I haven't seen him since Winterfell, and the sight of him now strangely is welcome to me. He appeared to be a rather kinder Lannister back home, perhaps having him in Kings Landing will help ease things up around here.

"We looked for you on the battlefield but you were nowhere to be found," the shorter man states coming up to Joffrey. Well, that explains the out of place armor he's wearing. I almost want to laugh looking at the bookworm dressed as a soldier, like a sheep in wolfs clothing but the wolf pelt is drowning the sheep. I'm not surprised however when the first thing he does when he reaches the pavilion is pour himself a glass of wine.

"I've been here. Ruling the kingdoms," Joffrey counters, and I could swear he almost sounds afraid. Almost.

"What a fine job you've done," his uncle replies, raising his glass into the air. He then catches sight of his other nephew and neice, greeting them much more cheerfully then he had his King. The only thing I'd have to scold him for his the insult he says regarding Sandors appearance. Of anyone Tyrion should know how much pain physical discriminations cause a person. Sandor is better than half the men in the Kings Guard.

"We heard you were dead," Joffrey groans.

"I'm glad your not," Myrcella quickly chirps.

"Me too dear," Tyrion says after dropping his goblet from his lips. "Death is so boring," he speaks, looking out towards the city while pacing the length of the pavilion. "Especially now with so much excitement in the world." It is then when he stops before where Sansa and I are and I see his facial expressions quickly shift from cheerful to guilty.

He bows his head slightly before saying, "My Ladies, I am sorry for your loss."

I smile weakly at him as a show of thanks but think better than to speak out again. Joffreys furious outcry proves my decision correct.

"Their loss? Ned Stark was a confessed traitor!"

"But still Lady Sansa's father and Lady Elizas guardian. Surely having so recently lost your own you can sympathize." He practically spits out the word sympathize, but my liking towards this sole Lannister intensifies with every word that leaves his lips since he arrived before us.

Joffrey, or course, isn't pleased with his uncles outlandish statement. He glares at Sansa, and I don't want to hear the words as they pour out of her mouth like they were made to time and time again since Ned died: "My father was a traitor. My mother and brother are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey."

A sad smile adorns Lord Tyrion's lips as he says, "Of course you are." When he looks away from Sansa's pale face and to mine I see the understanding in his eyes. I reply with the slightest of nods, thanking him for his kindness towards both Sansa and myself. He is the first to have shown it to us.

"Well," he sighs before downing the remnants of his wine. "Enjoy your Name Day your grace. Wish I could stay and celebrate, but there is work to be done." He plops his glass on the table and saunters past me and towards the Red Keep, his sell-sword following close behind.

"What work?" Joffrey asks annoyed and aggravated as he looks after his Uncle. "Why are you here?"

Lord Tyrion turns around with a triumphant smile on his face. "To serve as your Lord Hand your Grace."

I can't hold back my own triumphant smile.

That night Joffrey burned, cut, and stabbed everywhere fabric would cover the wound to punish me for my outburst and for the behavior of both his uncle and Lady Sansa. The entire time I didn't cry or grunt with pain, but I sang softly as commanded:

"The storm is coming but I don't mind.  
People are dying, I close my blinds.  
All that I know is I'm breathing now.

I want to change the world, instead I sleep.  
I want to believe in more than you and me.  
But all that I know is I'm breathing.  
All I can do is keep breathing.  
All we can do is keep breathing  
Now.

All that I know is I'm breathing.  
All I can do is keep breathing  
All we can do is keep breathing  
All we can do is keep breathing  
All we can do is keep breathing  
All we can do is keep breathing  
All we can do is keep breathing  
All we can do is keep breathing  
All we can do is keep breathing  
All we can do is keep breathing  
All we can do is keep breathing

Now"


	20. A Tennsion Filled Dinner

A TENSION FILLED DINNER

I take in a clean, or as clean as Kings Landing can get, breath of air.

The gardens are nearly empty and it gives me a tiny sense of serenity.

I limp slightly as I walk, the result of the butt of Joffreys crossbow to my knee last night. It'll bruise quite badly but I should be walking better on it in a day or two.

A few handmaidens scurry away as I come to the gardens center where a huge expanse of roses, orchids, and lilies bloom. I trace my fingers along their intricate designs.

"I never knew you to be an admirer of flowers my Lady." I turn about to see Lord Tyrion making his way towards me, a tiny quirk to his lips as he say, "Oh, my apologies. Eliza."

"Lord Tyrion," I say with a bow of my head. "I trust you are well."

"As well as I can be in this shit hole of a place." I can't hold back a tiny chuckle at his retort. "Would you care to walk with me as I make my way back to the castle? I have… a friend I am to see." I agree and the two of us begin our way back towards the Red Keep. As I walk I feel my limp and based upon Lord Tyrions expression he notices it as well.

"May I ask what has become of your leg?" he inquires. "The last time I saw you you were strutting around boldly with a sword at your side and pride in your walk." I do not miss his raised brow at my floral gown and my lack of any weapon.

"A misstep on one of the stairs," I respond. It is obvious that Lord Tyrion doesn't believe me, but he doesn't push for more to which I am grateful. No one, not even a servant, knows of my visits to Joffreys room, and I plan to keep it that way.

We walk in silence for quite some time before Tyrion, not unexpectedly, opens his mouth once again. "Eliza, I am truly sorry for your loss. What happened to Lord Stark."

"It is over now," I say coldly and flat, trying to hide the regret I feel at the mere mention of Ned's name. "There is nothing that can be done. I failed him."

Tyrion goes to grab me by the wrist but I move it away long before he gets the chance. I wince even at that tiny movement as the silken fabric of my dress brushes the fresh cuts on my inner wrist.

Lord Tyrion sighs. "It is not your fault Eliza. Lord Starks pride got the better of him. I am sure that you did all you could to save him."

"Not enough," I find myself saying without meaning too. "I couldn't protect him. I couldn't save him."

"Perhaps not," Lord Tyrion says. "But you can, and are protecting his daughter. Which I am sure he is grateful for. And remember." This time when he reaches out to take my hand I do not pull away, but bear with the pain just to feel the comfort of his touch. "You are not alone here anymore."

We share a smile, and I finally feel that I have made a true ally in Kings Landing.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" a gravely voice bellows and Lord Tyrion and I are greeted by his tall companion that arrived with him during Joffrey's Name Day celebration. I barely had to get a look at him before, but seeing him now I'm entirely certain that he is a sell sword. Not a high class one, but a rather good one. His stance is stiff enough to allow for friction in the case of an attack and fluid enough to allow for sudden movement should he need to spring into action. His eyes dart about unknowingly, seeing but not letting you know that they are. Yes, he is a good sell sword. If I had my weapon I would have jumped at him simply out of curiosity.

"Is this the lass?" The man questions, pointing a dirt incrusted finger at me.

"Yes," Tyrion responds. "Eliza, this is Bronn. A friend of mine I met when I was imprisoned by Lady Stark."

"I've heard some interesting things about you," Bronn smirks, eyeing me up and down. "The little guy never said ye was a looker though."

"You keep looking at me like that and I'll poke your eyes out."

"With what?" the sell sword smiles. "I don't see any weapons hiding under that nice fabric now."

The excitement of the confrontation gets to me and without thinking I jump forward as if to claw his eyes out with my hand. Instead I swirl around, causing my dress to fan out and distract the smelly swordsman as my fingers smoothly slip into his belt and remove one of his daggers. As I stop my twirl I am slightly behind him with the flat end of his own dagger against his throat. The entire movement took all of three seconds and I smirk triumphantly knowing that even after having been denied practice I still have my skills.

"Well fuck me!" Bronn bellows and lets out a howl of laughter. Tyrion winks at me and my smile grows brighter.

I remove the sword from Bronns neck and hand it back to him.

"That was some damn good trick you got there. Your style reminds me of this old tale I heard about back in Mereen. Bout this fighter in the Pits. The lad would jump and twirl bout like a fucking dancer, yet he'd always come out covered in blood. The Champion of the Pits!"

My smile falters as the blade is removed from my hand. "Must have been a good fighter." Bronn cheerfully agrees as he re-sheaths the blade.

"You two best get on your way," I say. "I think I will wander the gardens for a short while longer before returning." Tyrion bows politely and Bronn winks at me before the two of them make their way back towards the Red Keep. I turn back and limp my way into the garden, slapping flowers as I go and slowly my footing begins to replicate the steps of the Bravosie water dance.

I did not want to attend the dinner just as much as Sansa did not wish to attend. Unfortunately, when you are the prisoners of a royal family member and that royal family member invites you to dine with her and her children, you have to dine with her. The only upside to this meal was that she informed us that Joffrey would be too busy to attend the meal. Which gave me an extra couple of hours before I'd be forced to enjoy his company later tonight.

Sansa was placed at the head of the table, and myself next to Queen Cersei. Tommen and Mercella sat opposite me. We all silently nibbled on our meal, not even attempting to make awkward conversation. The Queen smirked every once and a while, eyeing me over her wine goblet. I expected her to say something at any second, breaking the silence in the air with one of her bitch remarks. Which is probably why I was so astonished when Mercella's little voice floated into the air.

"When will Joffrey and Sansa be married?" she asked innocently.

Sansas utensil hung awkwardly in the air as the color drained from her face. The paleness amplified much more so by the redness of her hair.

Cersie placed her goblet on the table. "Soon darling." Hearing her speak so deliquately almost made me nauseous. "When the war is over."

"Mother says I'll have a new gown for the ceremony! And another for the feast!" The little girl cheerfully chirps at Sansa and her simple minded question makes sense. "But yours will be ivory," she proclaims, looking to Sansa. "Since you're the bride."

Sansa's face drains even more so than it already had and I blatantly, and in clear view, reach out and take her trembling hand in mine, causing her to drop the utensil her fingers had been clasping. She looks at me with teary eyes and I give her a weak smile, imploring her to stay strong. Letting her know that I will protect her. That I am protecting her.

"The princess just spoke to you," Cersei's voice says, much more gruffly than she had when speaking to her daughter.

"Pardon your Grace," I say, letting my hand slide from Sansas.

Sansa turns to face Mercella. "I'm sure that your gowns will be beautiful Mercella." Her tone than alters to what I have come to refer to as her 'lady-like voice'. It has this slightly high pitched tone to it that gives it a sense of falsehood. "I'm counting the days till the fighting is done and I can pledge my love to the king in sight of the gods." The tiny smile she had plastered on her face as she spoke quickly faulters as the weight of the words hits her.

"Is Joffrey going to kill Sansas brother?" little Tommens voice suddenly inquires and I feel a pang in my chest. "I always thought that Robb and Eliza would get married the same time as Joffrey and Sansa. Will that not happen now? Since Joffrey will kill him?"

"Joffery might kill him yes," Cersie says without hesitation. Sansa takes a surprisingly long swig from her wine goblet and my fingers cramp around the empty space at my hip. "Would you like that?" The Queen then asks.

"No," the little boy states just as quickly as he mother had responded. "I don't think so."

It's so hard to imagine that this sweet little boy and girl are even remotely related to their demon of an older brother.

"Even if Joffrey were to kill him, Sansa is a good girl. She will do her duty," Cersei smiles happily turning to Sansa. "Won't you my sweet girl?"

Sansas eyes are red and tears are merely seconds from spilling over her long lashes.

"Sansa is a true Lady, Your Grace," I reply in her stead, simply to appease her arrogance. "She will do her duty."

The Queen takes another swig from her thrice empty goblet and smiles. "And you'll be there too Lady Eliza?" she questions smugly. "You are an honorary member of House Stark. Initially to be Lady of House Stark. I am sure, due to your devotion and connection to the family, you will be right by Sansas side. Doing what needs to be done."

It is at that moment that I realize Cersei knows about my nightly visits to Joffreys rooms. She knows, and she's toying with me. I stare her down, knowing that this may come back to haunt me but knowing that a stance must be made by my part to ensure Sansa doesn't receive the brunt of this bitches treatment.

"I will."


	21. Clipped Wings and Songs End

CLIPPED WINGS AND SONGS END

"I can't do this Eliza! I can't!" Sansa cries, tears spilling down her cheeks as she rocks back and forth on her bed.

We came back from the dinner and the instant I got her through the door Sansa fell to the floor in a whimpering mess.

"I can't marry him Eliza! I can't!" she cries, and I shush her desperately, praying htat no servants are walking by. "He's a monster!"

"Sansa," I coo, wrapping my arms around her as she continues to rock. "It's alright. I promise. Everything will be alright." I run my hand from her head to the small of her back: something I'd seen Lady Catelyn do quite frequently back home whenever Sansa got worked up over something.

The two of us sit there like that for quite some time before Sansas rocking stops and her large sobs quiet down to trembling whimpers. "I'll protect you Sansa. I promise I will do everything to insure that Joffrey doesn't lay a hand on you."

"Eliza…. I just…. Want to go home."

"I know sweet girl," I say soothingly, still stroking her hair. "I know."

"I'm gonna stay 'cause you're really tired more than you've shown  
Deep in your eyes there's no desire burning anymore

'Cause the will to fight gets you slowly dying  
In the heart of night  
How can you survive when the dimest light  
Never touched your eyes

This time we will  
Turn around and say the words that make us heal  
And then we will  
We will know and never more go back to this  
You gotta give something  
You gotta give something  
You gotta give something something to love  
You gotta give something

I won't deny your lack of compassion  
Pain is all you know  
Even a life turn of a fire  
Shouldn't burn alone

'Cause the will to fight gets you slowly dying  
In the heart of night  
How can you survive when the dimest light  
Barely touched your eyes

This time we'll win  
Turn around and say the words that make us heal  
And then we will  
We will know and never more go back to this  
You gotta give something  
You gotta give something  
You gotta give something something to love  
You gotta give something

Flying high above in a magic motion  
Nothing holding you so fly away  
And may I hold to you only feel devotion  
Just let go and let us  
Heal

This time we'll win  
Turn around and say the words that make us heal  
And then we will  
We will know and never more go back to this  
You gotta give something  
You gotta give something  
You gotta give something something to love  
You gotta give something

As my song ends Sansa has drifted off into a quiet sleep. No sooner do I get her placed into the bed do I hear a knock on her door.

I quickly make my way to the door and tug it open to reveal a dark haired young woman with almond shaped eyes. "May I help you?" I ask, assuming she's a servant based on her attire.

"I'm Shae M'Lady," she says, "your new handmaiden."

"I am not the Lady," I reply with a timid smile. I step to the side so that the young woman can get a view of Sansa laying in bed. "Lady Sansa is."

"Oh," the girl simply says, and I smile at her lack of apology.

"I didn't know a new maid was to be appointed for Sansa," I say quizzically. "I haven't seen you around the Keep before either. Are you new to Kings Landing?" My curiosity at knowing if she is a Queens spy has placed me on my guard. I have to leave soon for Joffreys rooms but I will not leave Sansa alone with someone that I do not know.

"I was given the job only this morning," the womans eyes look at me with a desire of understanding. "A _friend_ of mine told me that I could be of some help to the… Stark girls." Her accentuation on the word friend strikes a cord with me.

"What friend is this?"

Rather astonishingly the woman rolls her eyes and lets out an agitated sigh. "A rather short acquaintance that we both share wishes for me to work in these chambers."

It clicks. But why would Lord Tyrion send this girl to us? Unless… she's not just a friend.

Catching a glimpse of the window in the corner of my eye I realize the time. "I have somewhere I must go. My room is the adjoining quarters to this one. Should you wish you may use them as well."

"Thank you M'Lady," the girl says with an awkward bow as I move past her and out the door.

I stop quickly. "If there is one thing our _friend_ should have told you before appointing you to this position, is should have been that if you call my m'lady or anything of the sort, I will kill you."

"Then what am I to call you?"

"Eliza," I reply. "Good night Shae," I qucily say before rushing my way down the corridors towards Joffreys rooms.

"You're late."

"I was attending a dinner with your Lady mother and your siblings Your Grace," I say simply with a slight bow of my head after I close the door behind me.

When I raise my eyes the crossbow is once more in my face, I show no surprise at this for I had anticipated it.

Joffrey gives out a snarl behind the trigger. "Does this still not frighten you?"

I remain silent.

I flings the thing down to the ground and unsheaths a dagger from his chest of weapons at the end of his bed. Slowly he makes his way towards me and when he is at my side he grasps me by my wrist with his free hand and tugs the sleave away to reveal the skin up to my inner elbow. From wrist to where the fabric starts there are numerous scars, burnt patches of upraised skin, welts, and bruises. Irritated – for a reason I know not – he flings my arm down and grasps my other wrist. When he sees the similar marks on that arm he flings it away too.

"Do you truly not feel pain?" he inquires, staring into my eyes. He places the flat end of the blade onto my cheek, the cool of the metal almost burns against my warm flesh. "Is there nothing I can do to make you scream? To make you beg for mercy?" he asks, sliding the blade up and down my cheek. With a flourish he slices the blade into my shoulder. I give a tiny grunt as the blade hits bone, but that is all.

"ARRRRGGG!" he cries, throwing the dagger across the room with a clatter. "Nothing! I have done everything I can think of and still you respond with nothing!" He rushes back towards me and clasps his hand tightly around my throat. The grip is tight enough that I can feel my airway closing, but loose enough so that I can still take in enough to keep composure.

"Do I need to bring you to near death?" he asks, tightening his grip a little more so that my airway closes completely. I manage to make no gurgling or gasping noise as my body goes for nearly a minute without air. I can see the fury rising in Joffrey's eyes as the time goes by and still I stay silent.

He lets out another frustrated cry before flinging me onto the floor. I hit the carpet with a loud thumb and my bruised kneecap pops. I take in a large gulp of air right before he kneels down in front of me.

"There must be something I can do." His voice almost sounds like it's begging. His fingertips go from my chin up into my hair where they intertwine and tug. "There has to be something that I can do to break you."

And for some reason, I don't think I'll ever know what, I said, "There is no harm you can bestow on me that I have not already been afflicted with. If it is pain you wish me to feel, you will not find it even if you spill all of my blood onto your floor."

His smile becomes surprisingly cheerful at my outburst and his fingers lessen their grip in my hair. "You truly are something Eliza," he chuckles. His eyes move down from my face to my body, where a good portion of my dress reveals my breast due to the knife having torn a good chunk of it off. His gaze lingers on that area of flesh a little longer than I would like and a sudden gleam glows in his gaze and brightens his smile.

He looks back up into my face and triumphantly says, "Blood may not force you to cry out in pain, but I'm sure that the taking of your maidenhead may prove to harm your pride."

My eyes go wide. I had never thought of that. I had never presumed that Joffrey would take this road.

His smile grows even brighter. "There is the fear of have been looking for," he says triumphantly, before reaching down and tearing the rest of the fabric from my breast, exposing the pasty, unscarred flesh.

"NO!" I find myself crying without intending, and for the first time I fling my arm out and slap him. Unfortunately, this only proves to excite him more.

"There's the fight I've been looking for!" he bellows, forcing himself on top of me.

"Get off!" I cry. "Get off of me!"

"Don't you remember out deal?" Joffrey says cheerfully, and my limps slow in their fury. "If you do as I say, I won't lay a hand on Sansa." He leans down and whispers in my ear. "Though if you put up a little fight I'm sure I wont mind."

Im in so much shock that I don't have time to stop Joffrey before he tears what little remains of the fabric of my dress. My entire upper frame is revealed and he quickly wraps his disgusting hands around my breasts. I wiggle, managing to remove one of them, but the thought in the back of my head makes me fight less than I truly want to. The idea that Sansa could ever be in the situation is the only thing that can help me to tolerate it even the slightest bit.

He reaches down and tears my skirt apart so that I am now completely bare before him. When his fingers move towards my nether regions I let out another cry and I feel him harden against my abdomen.

"Get off!" I cry again, my fear taking over once more. I fling him off of me and wrap the torn fabric of my skirt around my chest. I rise to my feet but as soon as I do I am tackled onto the edge of the bed; a sword sticking out of his toy chest slicing a deep cut into my abdomen.

"Pitty," Joffrey sighs. "I wanted to mark this area first myself. I guess my toys got excited."

"You pig!" I shriek, any self-restraint I have masked by the situation at hand.

"I am King!" Joffrey cries, positioning himself over me, and only now do I realize that his shirt is removed. His cock is erect and highly visible through his trousers. "And you will do as I say." He presses his fingers into the cut in my stomach and for the first time, I wince in pain.

"Finally," he says happily.

I raise my leg up and push him off, but due to the amount of blood pouring out of the wound, my energy is depleting, and I only manage to knocking him back a little. He repositions himself over me and removes his cock from his trousers. I try and move backwards, up towards the head of the bed and away from this nightmare, but somehow the bastard has wound the ropes around my ankles, securing my feet to the corners of the end of the bed.

I know that my face is displaying nothing but complete and udder terror, but I cannot prevent that from happening now.

Joffrey leans down so that his noise is just an inch from my own.

"I will make you scream my name in fear Eliza," he decrees and then I feel a shooting pain from my crotch.

I scream so loudly my eardrums tremble.

My screams must arouse him for his cock grows within me, making the pain even sharper. I feel warm liquid pooling between my legs.

I reach out and scratch at Joffrey but the pain is so terrible that I am almost blind from it. I can feel my fingers come into contact with skin but I know that I made barely a mark.

"Stop!" I cry. "Don't do this!"

"I am King," Joffrey's voice chortles. "I can do whatever I want. And I want to do this." He pulls backwards then quickly thrusts forwards, sending a shockbolt of pain through my body. I cry out in agony and he groans in pleasure.

Again and again he thrusts in and out of me.

I stop screaming from pain. I lay still and feel nothing but numbness as tears slip from my eyes.

It feels like time has stopped and I am trapped within one of the seven hells. Bound forever to this fate. This is a fate worse than death.

"Yes Eliza!" Joffrey cries, and a warm sensation fills my stomach as he lets out a groan.

He falls over to the side, breathing heavily. But I just lay there, still and empty. A part deep inside of me feels like it has shattered into pieces. Like I'm… broken.

"I'm done with you for tonight," Joffrey states. "Get out."

I have to lean against the wall in order to walk.

From the waist down my body feels as though it would shatter into pieces at any moment. The cut in my abdomen is still bleeding, but the gown Joffrey threw at me before I left is thick enough to stanch most of it until I get to my rooms.

Walking down the steps is almost too painful to do, but I'm only a few minutes from my chambers. Just a few more steps and I'll be fine.

"Look whose come out to play?" a gruff voice speaks.

I raise my head from the floor and am surprised to see Sandor of all people.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, forcing myself to stifle any pain that can escape in my tone. I lean against the wall to insure that I wont fall over, but at the right angle so that he doesn't realize I need to the wall in order to stay standing.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, implying that my question is not important. "You think the little king wants his prize bird walking about the halls?" The way he says those words hurts almost as much as the event that happened only a few moments ago. I can hear the shame in his voice. I know what he thinks of me. He thinks I'm weak. That I gave in to Joffrey for my own selfish desires. That I'm a hypocrite who reprimanded and shamed him for obeying orders, and here I am, obeying orders.

"You're a woman," he says flatly. "You'll be his little bird and sing him songs of sweet things while he fucks your sweet Lady Stark."

"Stop it," I cry, not able to take it anymore. Just the thought of Sansa being in my place just before. I can't bare it.

He scoffs. "Perhaps after the king gets tired of you Lady he'll take you for a ride aye?" He reaches out and grasps my arm, the metal of his gloves digging into the still stinging marks on my arms. I wince at his touch and quickly try to hide my expression.

"What happened to the bitch form Winterfell?" he bellows, tightening his grip on my arm. In doing so he knocks his metallic fist into my bleeding abdomen.

"She's gone!" I shriek, surprising both myself and Sandor.

I look up into his face. "That girl from Winterfell… that songbird has had her wings clipped. She can't fly. She can't fight. She will never sing again."

Sandor stares down at me and for some reason I desperately want him to just take me in his arms so that I can cry.

He opens his mouth only slightly, but whatever words he would have spoken are erased by a third voice coming down the stairs.

"Clegane what's going on here?"

As Lord Tyrion comes down the rest of the stairs he sees me up agians the wall, hiding in the shadows.

"Never mind imp," Sandor says, removing his hand from my arm. "I was just taking her."

"I'll see Eliza to her rooms," Lord Tyrion says, cutting off Sandor. "Why don't you go and find a tree to piss on?"

Sandor gives me one last quick glance, filled with a strange mixture of curiosity and sympathy, before walking off in the direction of the kings rooms. I want him leave, and a part of me whishes he had stayed.

"Are you alright Eliza?" Tyrion asks coming down the remainder of the steps.

"Fine," I reply, but as I move I wince in pain again. When I look down blood has started to seep through my dress, forming a dark red patch. Before Tyrion can notice it I turn towards the hall. "I'll be returning to my chambers."

I make it merely two steps before Tyrion calls my name.

"Yes my Lord?" I ask without turning around.

"Are you sure you're alright?" His voice sounds much more concerned than it had been before and I realize that a trail of blood has dripped from beneath my dress onto the floor.

I turn my head just enough so that I can see Lord Tyrion over my shoulder. "I'm as well as I can be in this place My Lord."

Tyrion nods his head in a sad look of understanding. "Sleep well Eliza."

"And you, Lord Tyrion."


	22. Punishments from the King

PUNISHMENTS FROM THE KING

It's been a few weeks since, that night. Sansa has noticed my change in demeanor and has gotten concerned. I spend much more of my time in bed. My entire body aches in ways I never thought I would have been forced to endure. I have been through some of the most agonizing methods of torture, but nothing compares to this empty, lifeless feeling I have inside me right now.

"Get up," Shae commands as she flings my bed cover off of me.

"Please Shae," I say curling up into a ball. "Just let me be."

I feel her weight shift the feather down mattress. "You can't stay under there forever. You need to eat and get some fresh air." The womans hand lightly slides down my back in a comforting manner.

I don't know how she knows, but I am certain Shae knows exactly what happened that night. When I entered my rooms that night dripping blood onto my floor Shae said nothing. She helped me out of the thick wool dress and bandaged up the scar on my abdomen. A skill she was surprisingly talented at. She didn't ask any questions or really even speak. She put me in bed and let me stay there for the entire next day, promising that she would look after Sansa.

"It hurts to move," I breath.

"The sooner you move, the less it'll hurt."

"How can it hurt less when every night the pain is just extenuated?"

Shae sighs. Carefully she pulls me up into a seated position. "Eventually," she says in a stern tone, "you learn to live with the pain." Her eyes shimmer slightly. "And eventually you will grow so numb inside you can't feel it anymore."

I had my speculations about Shaes origins before coming to Kings Landing. I was more than certain she was, and still most likely is, a whore. I am also certain that Lord Tyrion has brought her here due to affection. When returning one night I caught the new handmaiden sneaking her way into the Hands chambers. She is a smart girl, and I suppose in this instance she knows what she is talking about.

"Where is Sansa?" I ask.

"A meeting was called in the Grand Hall," Shae replies. "Lady Sansa was summoned. As were you but I informed them that you would be arriving later."

I sigh. "then I should get dressed. I don't want to leave Sansa alone surrounded by all of those people."

The closer we get to the Throne Room the louder the shouts and screams of outrage become. I don't know why, but I have the strong need to pick up my pace. I hurry through the corridors, Shaes feet doing their best to keep up with my own.

When I enter through the side servants entrance I nearly freeze.

Joffrey is standing at the top of the stairs leading to the throne with a crossbow in his hand. The arrowhead directed at a girl sitting on the floor. Directed at Sansa.

I painfully push my way forward. Sliding past every man and woman of the court. When I get to the front Sansa is whimpering, tears slipping down her cheeks although she tries to hold a strong exterior. I place my foot out one more time only to have two guards come up and pull me back by my shoulders.

"Get your hands off me," I snarl, but the two red cloaked guards remain still, restraining me.

"You're here to answer for your brothers latest treasons!" Joffrey cries, drawing my attention.

"Your Grace," Sansa plees. "Whatever my traitor brother has done I had no part! You know that! I beg you, please."

"Ser Lancell," Joffrey cries, "Tell her of this outrage."

Behind Sansa Ser Lancell, one of the damned Lannister cousins, clearly apparent from his shimmering gold locks, smirks merrily. "Using some vile sorcery your brother fell on staff at Lanister with an army of wolves. Thousands of good men were butchered and after the slaughter the slaughter, the northman feasted on the flesh of the slain." I roll my eyes at the ridiculous remark but the rest of the court seems all too eager to gasp in fright. Damn southerners.

"Killing you would send your brother a message," Joffrey says. "However," his gaze shifts quickly too me, though I am sure only I noticed. "My mother insists on keeping you alive." He drops the crossbow to his side. "Stand," he commands Sansa. "So," he continues, directing his focus onto me, "we'll have to send him a message some other way. Meryn."

The dishonorable knight walks over to mee with a sick look of glee in his eyes. Forcefully he grabs me by the back on my neck and leads me to where Sansa stands. He forces her to move with my body.

"Eliza," she whimpers.

"Go Sansa," I command, and reluctantly she scampers off into Shaes arms near the servants entrance.

"Do you think Lord Stark will be interested to know that his betrothed was battered due to his own actions?" Joffrey chortles. He nods his head and Trant forces me onto my knees. I hear the slither of a blade being unsheathed and I take in a deep breath.

"Leave her face," Joffrey commands. "I like her pretty." He smirks cheerfully.

When I gaze up to stare Joffrey down I instead find the Face of Sandor Clegane. I had not noticed his presence up until this point, but it is hard to ignore when he is so blatantly trying to avoid my eyes.

Distracted by Sandors presence I was not prepared for the first blow and as the flat end of Trants sword slammed into my back, sending a shooting bolt of pain through my body, I let out a tiny whimper. Joffrey let a grin smear smugly across his face as he lounged, casually in his throne. I met his mirth filled eyes with my stern ones. For that one brief moment, I felt like the last week hadn't happened. Like I was my old self again, refusing to give this boy king what he wants. Joffrey must have seen my defiance, for he commanded, "Meryn, my Lady is overdressed." He smiled brightly. "Unburden her."

I didn't flinch as the back of my silk green dress was torn all the way down to the waistline. The front fabric fell revealing my corset, as well as my severally scared shoulders. Whispers began in the crowd, as Joffrey commanded Trant to unburden me of my corset. The brute tugged the string holding my corset together into pieces and in doing so tore the sleeves from my gown away. The corset opened in the back and fell forward just enough to reveal the tops of my nipples.

I did not move. I did not speak. I just kept staring defiantly at Joffrey. Shae was right, eventually the pain turns to numbness.

The entire crowd was frantically whispering, for my scarred and damaged flesh was evident for all the world to see. It was then I realized that Sandor had finally looked at me and although his expression was still the same flat empty look, his eyes were drenched in astonishment.

"If we want Robb Stark to hear us," Joffrey cried, "We're going to have to speak louder!"

I raised my head high and stared Joffreys smug face down as Meryn removed his sword once more. Off to the side I heard Sansa call out my name and I prayed that Shae would be sure to keep her back.

Joffrey smiled brightly as Trant raised his sword above my head.

"What is the meaning of this?" a voice rang through the halls.

I turned around just as the crowd parted to allow Tyrion through, Bronn following closely behind him.

"What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?" he snarled at Trant as he came up between myself and the knight.

"The kind who serves his king, imp!" The man snarled.

"Careful now," Bronn chirped, coming up along my other side. "We don't wanna get blood all over your pretty white cloak."

Tyrion then turned to look at me, but his eyes quickly moved from my face to my body. I saw the sorrow fill his eyes. "Someone get the girl something to cover herself with!" he demanded. He then turned back to Joffrey, the sorrow replaced with fury. "She is a Lady under our protection. Have you no regard for her honor?"

"I'm punishing her!"

"For what crime?" Tyrion cried. "She does not fight her brothers battle."

As the two bickered it was Sandor who came up to me, tearing his white kingsguard cloak off to wrap around my shoulders. As he lay the fabric around my shoulders, his hands delicately embraced my shoulder. He then resumed his place at the foot of the stairs.

"You halfwit!" Tyrion cried.

"You can't talk to me like that!" Joffrey wined. "The king can do as he likes!"

"The mad king did as he liked," Tyrion said boldly, following Joffrey up the throne steps. "Did your uncle Jamie ever tell you what happened to him?"

"No one threatens his Grace in the presence of the kingsguard," Trant bellows, wrapping his hand around his sword grip.

"I'm not threatening the King Ser," Tyrion replies with a roll of his eyes. "I'm educating my nephew. Bronn, the next time Ser Meryn speaks kill him." Bronn smiles brightly as Trants face falls upon inspecting the sellsword. "That was a threat," Tyrion says. "See the difference?" The knight gives no reply and Tyrion makes his way back down the stairs.

He comes up before me, his face once again filled with sorrow and what I believe to be regret. He holds out his hand and I take it graciously. As I rise, painfully, to my feet, Joffrey stubbornly rises to his, his face pinched in a fit of rage. I am reminded that I must visit his chambers again tonight and I know the punishment will be severe, but my old self refuses to allow that to effect me now. I turn with Tyrion as he leads me towards the Servants entrance.

"I apologize Eliza," he says in a sorrowful whisper. "To think that you had to suffer through such an event. I wish I had gotten here sooner."

"I took the punishment so that Sansa would not have to," I reply flatly.

"I was not referring to today," he corrects me.

I take his meaning plainly and thank him for his help before Sansa rushes up and takes me in a tight embrace, releasing me when she hears me groan a little in pain.

I'm very hesitant as I make my way towards Joffrey's chambers tonight. I am certain that the punishment will be agonizing. The only thing that gives me hope is that the numbness will take over as it had earlier in the day.

"What are you doing here?"

I'm surprised to look up and find Sandor standing outside of Joffreys chambers.

"I…" I stammer and eventually give up in trying to explain.

A few minutes of silence go past before Sandor speaks. "How long have you been coming here?"

"Since the day Joffrey made Sansa look at Lord Starks head."

Sandor sighs. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"About what?" I question.

"When I confronted you the other night!" he bellows, stepping closer to me so that I can feel his drunken breath on my face. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because," I sigh, "I didn't want you to think any less of me than you already did."

"Eliza, I…"

Sandors words are cut off by a sudden scream coming from inside the room. For an instant I wonder why Sandor doesn't run to his Kings aid, but then I realize that the scream wasn't a man, but a woman. I make to move past but Sandor carefully grabs me by my inner elbow.

"Don't," he says.

"Who's in there?"

"Lordy Tyrions name day gift to his Grace," Sandor replies, his expression one of pitty.

Realizing what he means I shake him from my arm and quickly bolt through the door. As I enter the screams grow louder and I stop dead in my tracks in the bedchamber entryway. Sandor, not anticipating my halt collides into me and grasp me by my shoulders before I fall forward.

Joffrey sits nonchalantly in a chair, facing the bed where his two "presents" are, is favorite crossbow pointed at them.

One of the whores is laid down across the bed, her face in the pillows, her bare ass up in the air covered in blood. The other girl is standing over her with a large cane like object, the end of which – in the shape of a stag – is coated in blood as well.

"What are you doing here?" Joffrey snears.

"I was doing as we agreed your Grace," I replied.

"Not you," he snarls, then indicates at Sandor. "Get outside!"

Surprisingly, Sandor doesn't move from his spot. His hands tighten around my shoulders.

The whimpers from the bed grasp my attention and it is then that I realize the redhead holding the cane is Ross; one of Winterfells most popular whores. She looks at me with pleading eyes.

"Perhaps, Your Grace," I say. "Ser Clegane may escort these two women out. You have appeared to have had your fun with them already." Sandors hands tighten a little more around my shoulders.

Joffrey smiles and bites his lip in anticipation, what he does whenever he gets excited for a fuck. "Fine," he says, with a wave of his hand. "Get them out of my site."

Without hesitation I make my way to the bed and help Ross with the younger girl. I wrap the bloody fabric of her dress around her bare body as Ross pulls the nearly lifeless girl onto her shoulder. I help them make their way to the door where Sandor has moved over to allow them to pass through. I begin to make my way back into the bedchamber but Sandor reaches out his hand and takes mine.

I carefully remove his grip and whisper, "Go."

He hesitates, but when Joffrey screeches my name demanding that I come I implore him to leave and he does so, but not before grumbling a few curses under his breath.

I was right when I had thought this beating would be worse, and it was amplified even more so due to the presence of the whores before me. Luckily I was also correct in that the numbness would take over. When he fucked me again and again and again I felt his cock inside me, but I did not feel him inside me. I did not feel myself being taken away from me. I just felt nothing.

Noticing my lack of reaction however, Joffrey took more pleasure in knife play. Most of it was only a few nicks here and there, but there were one or two that stung even with the tiniest of movements.

As I exited his chambers I could feel some of the blood soaking into the blue cotton fabric of my dress. I tripped slightly as my ankle caught on a stray brick in the hall and braced myself for the floors impact. Instead, I found myself pulled into an upright position by my waist.

I turned around to find, for the third time today, Sandors hands grasping hold of me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"What the fuck do you think?" he snarled back, but the concern was still evident in his demeanor, at least to me.

I smile weakly. "Thank you."

"Don't fucking thank me," he growled, letting go of my waist. "I didn't do anything."

He storms off down the hall and I follow closely behind. I realize quickly the way he's going.

"Aren't your chambers in the other direction?" I question, curtly.

"What the fuck do you care?" he snarls without turning around to look at me. "I can't go for a fucking walk?"

I do not suppress my smile as we come up to Lady Sansa and my own bedchambers.

"Sandor," I call after him as he keeps moving. He stops but does not turn. "Good night."

He scoffs and disappears into the next corridor.


	23. The Crowds Fury

THE CROWDS FURY

When Tyrion, The Hand to the King, had told me he'd be sending Marcella off to Dorn to marry the crown prince, I have to say I was slightly sorrowful to see the young girl go. She was a sweet child, nothing like either of her parents or nearly all of the remnants of her family, save little Tommen. Another part of me was happy for her; she gets to leave this place before it corrupts her. Dorn is better for her, safer. An old acquaintance of mine once said "Dorn does not shed blood lightly." I have never been there but have heard many tales of the warm, sandy cities. Marcella will enjoy herself in that place where the war has had yet to come.

The entire court came to see her off at the docks and the poor girl cried even when placed upon the extravagant boat that would take her to her ship. The Queen Mother was furious, as evident by her lack of smile and constant curt remarks at her youngest brother. Say what you will about Cersie, the only people she shows kindness towards are her children. Still, she does not deserve them.

The high Priest of the Seven said a prayer as the little princesses boat paddled away and off to my side Prince Tommen let out a continuous array of whimpers and shrieks, a servant whipping his tears.

"He sounds like a little cat mewling for his mommy," Joffrey snarled, staring at his brother with agitation. "Princes don't cry."

Sansa speaks boldly beside me. "I saw you cry."

Joffrey turns around to face us, agitated. "Did you say something My Lady?" he snarls.

"Lords Bran and Rickon cried as we left for Kings Landing," I exclaim. "It's a natural things to shed tears at the absence of a loved one."

"Is it?" Joffrey seethes through clenched teeth, coming up to me and grasping my wrist tight enough that I can feel the bloodflow to my fingers slow. "Perhaps I'll make you cry again this evening," he whispers in my ear.

I say nothing and he releases me, making his way to follow Lord Tyrion and his mother who have already begun their track back to the Red Keep. "Come dog!" Joffrey barks as he passes Sandor. The man looks at me quickly before following behind the King.

Sansa, her ladies – appointed to her by Queen Cersei – and I follow the precession of guests towards the Red Keep. The streets are filled with citizens, most of which are covered in muck and hardly clothed. Instinctively I move closer to Sansa.

Up ahead men in the crowd begin shouting out profanities aimed at Joffrey. Calling to attention is manner of birth and begging for food.

In front of us are Lord Tyrion and Prince Tommen. When I see Tyrion spin around and command the servants and two Lannister guards to take little Tommen back to the Keep through a different, less packed alleyway I wrap my arm around Sansa's lower back. "Stay close to me," I whisper and she nods.

As we continue forward I look into the faces of the people. The angry, thin, bloodlustful people. This is not going to go well.

I don't know what happened but I suddenly hear Joffrey screeching up ahead. Commanding that someone in the crowd be found and then quickly, and stupidly, commanding that everyone in the crowd be killed.

From that moment on everything happened so fast.

Sansa's Ladies in waiting vanished off into the crowd leaving only me, weaponless me, to defend her. The barricade of soldiers separating us from the citizens quickly disappears as people in the crowd rush in and swarm anyone in the precession they can get their hands on. Rocks, spoiled food, and what is definitely shit are thrown around.

Hands reach out for Sansa and I but I shove each of them away. Sansas hair has come undone and she's tripping over the ends of her gown. I lift her up repeatedly and drag her with me along the wall, this way I only have to guard one side.

However something grabs hold of my angle and by the time I kick it off Sansa has rushed farther ahead of me and the crowd has already begun to separate us.

"Eliza!" she cries, attempting to turn back and come for me.

"No!" I cry, and thankfully she stops. "Go! I will follow!"

She rushes off in the direction of a few Lannister guards who quickly surround her and drag her in the direction of the Red Keep. I on the other hand am once more snagged on by a foul smelling man with no teeth. I shake my arm but he refuses to let go so I am forced to punch him clear across the face. Thank goodness for his lack of teeth otherwise he may have lost a few.

I zig zag my way through the crowd of screaming and beating towards the Red Keep, continuously knocking off people who grab onto me. I feel my dress tear in multiple places and the stupid silk fabric prevents me from running as fast as I'd like.

I'm nearly at the entrance to the keep when a man jumps in front of me. A very, very large man. Too large for me to knock off. Seeing a deserted corridor I quickly rush down it but I hear the man follow in pursuit and sadly his footsteps are not the only ones.

I don't get very far when a hand reaches out and pushes me, causing my footing to falter. Using the momentum I turn around and strike the man hard across the face. He goes to hit me back but I quickly dodge his attack. He tries again and again but each time I dodge it. However, due to my lack of movement in my tattered gown, I hadn't taken into account the presence of the other men and foolishly let myself get hit from my blind spot off to my left. The blow hit directly into a still healing gash in my side and as his fist made contact I felt the barely healed flesh split open and a ring of blood was already dying my dress.

"Fuck!" I cried, placing my hand over the oozing spot.

The men took this moment of weakness as their chance and jumped me all at once. They knocked me onto my back and hard enough to knock the air from me and I gasped loudly.

"Fucking cunt," one of the men sniggered as he grasped both my arms. Some of the other men took hold of my legs whilst the big brawly man leaned down over me in a gut churningly familiar way.

"You ever been fucked little girl?" he breathed on me with rotted breath.

I spit directly into his eye. "Get the fuck off me," I commanded through clenched teeth.

"We got ourselves a spitfire here boys!" the man cried, whipping my spit from his face. "I like me a fighter," he said with a smirk as he removed his already erect cock from his trousers.

I squirmed and tugged trying to free any appendage I could, but the wound in my side was forming a pool of blood beneath my back and my strength was not what it normally was. Plus my lack of weapon proved to be very unhelpful. Had I had it I would have cut through all of them like soft butter.

As the man went to brought himself downward towards my open legs however the numbness began to kick in. I stopped flailing without realizing it and didn't try to fight. I closed my eyes and just prayed that afterwards they wouldn't slit my throat.

"AAAAHHHH!"

The shriek and lack of pressure over my pelvis made me open my eyes the instant that the burley mans guts splattered all over the hay covered floor. Beside the pile of red worms were two silver armored feet and when I looked up they were attached to the scared face of someone I hadn't expected. "Sandor," I breathed sitting up and wincing in pain from my wound.

He ignored me and threw the gutted man onto the floor then turning to the men that had been holding onto my legs and arms. He quickly dispatched them without taking any knowledge of their plees for mercy and this time I would not scold him for his brutal behavior.

When each was laying in a pool of their own blood he turned to me. "You alright?" he asked.

"Yes," I gurgled through a sudden shot of pain.

"Don't fucking lie to me," he bellowed, pulling me to my feet and then lifting me up into his arms.

As he carried me out into the open alleyway the crowd had mostly been dispersed, but the fighting had clearly been spread into different areas for shrieks and cries could still be heard coming from every which way.

When we plowed through the baracaded doors of the Red Keeps servants entrance Lord Tyrion ran up to us. Upon seeing my blood which had now coated nearly my entire dress and dripped onto the floor his eyes bulged. "Are you hurt my lady?"

Before I even had the chance to say I was fine Sandor bellowed, "She's bleeding you fucking idiot! Get her some help."

Tyrion, at first shocked hesitated before saying, "Take her back to her chambers." He looked to me, "Shae will help you."

I smile in understanding. "I know, Lord Tyrion. Thank you." I glance around the room quickly. "Did Sansa make it back safe?" I inquire.

"Yes," Tyrion quickly replies. "A few cuts and bruises but she is unharmed. I already sent her back to your chambers, informing her that I would send you there once you arrived."

I nod my head in thanks although I'm not quite sure he sees if for Sandor has already started marching me down the hall and towards my room with an annoyed groan.

"Eliza!" Sansa cries when Sandor carries me through the doorway. "By the Gods!" she exclaims upon seeing my blood soaked gown.

"Where should I put her?" Sandor asks of Shae, taking no notice of Sansas gasping cries.

Shae quickly leads him into my chambers where he delicately places me onto my bed.

Shae gets to work quickly. Not bothering to remove my dress she instead tears the fabric apart revealing my bloodstained corset. She quickly begins working on untying the laces when I hear Sansa mummer, "You may leave now Ser."

Sandor is still standing in the doorway of my chamber, staring at me as Shae removes what little else remains of my clothes.

"Ser," Sansa says again when it is blatantly apparent that he did not hear her the first time.

"He's no Ser," I say with a tiny laugh and Sandor finally adjusts his stance, taking notice of Sansa besides him.

"Out of my way," he snarls, before moving past Sansa and out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

Sansa quickly comes up beside me and grasps my hand. "Eliza I'm so sorry," she says, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"This is nothing sweet girl, I say with a weak smile, wincing as Shae rubs something onto my side. "Get some rest," I instruct and her fingers tremble in my grasp.

"But," she begins to protest.

"I'll be fine. Get some sleep."

Reluctantly the girl scampers off to her own bedchambers and I turn to Shae. "Are you going to sow it closed?" I inquire, and the foreign girl nods her head. "Then give me something to bite on. I don't want to wake her." Shae hands me a clumped up cloth soaked in milk of the poppy and I stuff it into my mouth as she begins to stitch my flesh back together.

When I wake the next morning Shae is still in my chamber, seated on stool at my bedside.

"What in the hells are you doing here?" I groan.

"Your bleeding continued for a while even after I stitched up the wound," she replies. "I had to reapply wrappings multiple times throughout the night."

"Thanks," I murmur, forcing myself into a painful seating position. I catch her eyeing me warily. "What is it?" I ask, slightly agitated. "Is there an infection or something?"

"How long has it been since your last moons blood?"

"What are you talking about? My last moons blood was…"

My body stiffens and my heart races.

"No…" I stammer.

"While I was inspecting your wounds last night I checked to ensure your heartbeat wasn't irregular. There were two distinct beats."

Involuntarily I heave forward and vomit all over my quilt and I frighteningly realize that this is not the first time I've gotten sick in the early morning.


	24. Internal Bleeding

INTERNAL BLEEDING

My insides seem to burn with every breath I take as I think about the… the _thing_ growing inside my belly. Every now and again my hand reaches up to my abdomen absentmindedly and I can swear I feel something trying to pry its way out of me. As if it doesn't want to belong within me as much as I don't want it to. I recount the nights in hopes that it is something else, anything else, but it isn't.

I am pregnant, and there is nothing I can do about it now. Not unless I want to cut the thing out of my stomach by my own hand. If it hadn't been for the high likelihood of my death and abandoning Sansa to the lions, I may have been more inclined to simply do so. Instead I am resolved to hide my… condition.

I will play the part I have been playing these few months as though nothing has been altered.

I fear the response that Joffrey will have to my condition. I do not know exactly what he will do, but I do know that he had all his bastard siblings rounded up and butchered. I may not desire this child myself, however, I do not wish to discover what fate would be in store for me while it still resides within my womb.

"Are you alright Eliza?" Sansa's tiny voice flitters me back into the present, where we are taking a leisurely stroll through the royal gardens. An activity that Sansa, as well as myself, have grown to enjoy.

I loop my arm through hers and plaster a smile across my face. "I'm fine My Lady."

"Are you sure?" she presses.

"I'm sure," I say, squeezing her tiny hand in my own. "Besides," I sigh, "I should be asking you that. How are you feeling?"

She nips at her lip. "I wasn't expecting… the mess it would be."

"I know," I sigh.

I awoke this morning to Sansa screaming in her bed. I rushed in expecting it to have been another nightmare for she'd been having terrors every night since the day of the attack. Instead I found her standing on top of her mattress, a pool of red at her feet and marking a trail down her silken night clothes. Her moons blood had come, and with that the long awaited marriage to King Joffrey.

I had brought Shae into the room so the two of us could attempt to hide the evidence of Sansa's maidenhood, but as I tossed the bloody sheets in the fire and the other two went to flip the mattress, one of Cersies many ladies in waiting come in. The second she saw the red stain she smirked triumphantly and no doubt ran off to tell her precious Queen.

Sansa began to panic after the realization that her wedding was now closer than it had ever been before so I quickly dressed her and brought her out here. The fresh air seemed to do her some good, but the cool breeze couldn't brush away the fear brimming in her eyes.

As we make our way around the bend I see Shae walking towards us.

"Lady Sansa," she says when she is close enough. "You have been asked to meet with the Queen Mother. Alone."

I feel Sansa stiffen beside me. "All will be well," I insist even though I know it's a waste of breath. "Shae," I say, holding Sansa's arm out to her, "will you please escort Lady Sansa to the Queen Mother?"

With a nod, the maid takes Sansa by the hand and wraps her other arm around the girls trembling shoulders.

"I will see you back in your chambers Sansa," I call out after them.

000000000000000

I had intended to make my way directly back to Sansa's and my own chambers but instead I found myself wandering outside a tad longer than anticipated. When I finally did head for the Red Keep I used the servants entrance in an attempt to avoid the Main Hall and Throne Room where I knew that Joffrey was attending to matters of royal importance: also known as corporal punishment for poor farm boys that stole some food because their sick mother or sister needed something to eat.

The halls were rather empty except for the occasional maid or footman running by in a hurry to complete a task or chore. I payed them little mind as I glided through the halls, occasionally using the wall to help me keep standing. With the morning sickness also came noontime migraines, todays being rather stronger than usually almost forcing me to fall to my knees.

I take a rather sudden tumble as my vision goes fuzzy and fall against the bricked wall. I attempt to right myself back up but am unable to do so and I feel my knees give way beneath me. Just before I hit the stone I feel an arm reach out and grasp me about the waist, as it tightens I feel a surge inside me and I lean over just in time for a large pool of bloody bile to escape my lips and splat onto the floor.

The arm about my waist loosens but still holds on in order to support my legs and help me remain standing.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" a voice barks behind me.

"What are you doing down here Sandor?" I retaliate as I place a hand to my rather burning temple.

There is a moment of hesitation before he speaks again, but when he does Clegane completely ignores the question I put to him. "You're so fucking warm I can feel the heat through my damn armor." He then loops his other arm under my legs and scoops me up into the air.

"What in the seven hells do you think you're doing?" I try to bellow but it just comes out as gasping squeaks and groans.

"Taking you to the Maester."

"No!" I quickly cry, realizing that doing that risks the chance of Joffrey discovering my condition. "Just take me to my room. Shae will help me."

"The fucking maid?" he growls questioningly. "What the fuck is she going to do?"

"Sandor please, just take me to my chambers."

He gives an agitated harrumph which I take for a reluctant yes.

"Where?" he questions when we enter my chambers off of Sansa's room which are empty- she must still be with Cersei.

"Just on the bed is fine," I instruct just before he places me down so lightly I feel like a feather falling from the mattress itself.

When he turned away from me I expected him to quickly make his way out of the room but instead he turns back to me, a goblet of water in his hand. He holds it out to me and I take in, quickly gulping down the liquid within.

"What is it?" he asks, staring down at me.

I slurp the last of the water from the glass and place it on the nightstand beside my bed. "It's nothing."

"If it was nothing you wouldn't be needing to use the wall to walk for the past two weeks."

I eye him skeptically. "Have you been following me?"

I could swear I saw a tiny shade of red cross his unmarked cheek.

"I've noticed in passing."

"I've noticed I haven't noticed you," I say. "Which inclines me to presume that you have been secretly watching me."

I eye him in an attempt to decipher that constant look of irritation on his face.

"Have you ever smiled?" I chide, causing him to look at me in surprise.

"What?" he asks.

"Your face," I circle mine to emphasize the point my slightly slurred words attempt to make. "It's always so serious and harsh. I can't recall if I've ever seen you smile."

"There isn't much to smile about in a place like this is there?"

I scoff slightly. "No," I agree, "I suppose not."

"You should get some rest," he says after a brief moment of silence. I nod in agreement.

"Thank you for your assistance Sandor."

He isn't even out the door before I feel myself fall into a deep slumber I know will last for hours.

0000000

When I did awake it was just before my nightly meeting with the King. I scurried out and past Sansa's sleeping form just in time to bump into Shae outside her chamber door.

"Take care of her while I'm gone."

"Of course."

I start to make my way down the hall when Shae calls out my name behind me. Quickly she rushes up to me and cups my cheek in her palm, stretching at the skin around my eyes with her fingertips. "Be careful tonight," she says. "Something isn't right about your complexion."

I remove her hand from my face. "I will be fine," I say before quickly rushing down the hall to insure that I will not arrive later than I already may.

When I click the door behind me the frustration is clear on Joffrey's face.

"You're late," he snarls, wiping down a knife while he sits at the end of his bed. The bed is full of arrows, daggers, and other shimmering weapons haphazardly thrown about.

"I fell asleep," I reply.

He scoffs and aggressively rubs harder at the metal with the cloth. "You've been aggravatingly tired as of late. Did the peasants really take so much more out of you than I ever could?" He rises to his feet, tossing the rag aside as he comes over to me. He places the tip of the dagger against my throat. "Have you grown so weak you couldn't even handle them?" I expect to see a triumphant smirk on his face, but instead I find a look of regret and, strangely, disappointment.

"Did you not even attempt to fight them off?"

"I did Your Grace," I reply, as he drops the dagger back down to his side.

Suddenly and without warning the boy flips the weapon in the air and catches it by the blade end. "Show me," he commands, holding out the hilt for me to take it. He must truly believe he has complete control over me if he is bold enough to hand me a weapon; the sad part is that he does have that control. I would never hurt him running the risk that he'd hurt Sansa especially now that the wedding date has no doubt been set already.

I stare down at the blade. "Take it!" He commands once more, shaking the hilt at me.

"I had no weapon on while I was attacked Your Grace," I reply. "I merely used my fists against my opponents until I was punched in the side resulting in a wound reopening, allowing them to gain an advantage over me."

Joffrey sighs. "A wound eh?" he says as he tosses the dagger haphazardly towards the wall. It falls to the ground with a loud clash as the metal hits the stone. "One of the ones from the night prior?"

"Yes Your Grace," I reply.

The boy Kings shoulders slump rather unexpectedly as he makes his way towards his armchair. As he plops down he stares into the fire, stroking at his hairless chin. He sits that way for some time before indicating for me to come closer. "Sing for me," he commands. "It has been quite some time since I've heard you sing."

A part of my cracks inside. I haven't uttered a single tune since the first night he took me. I haven't been able to. I open my mouth but the sound doesn't come out. I've tried countless times, for Sansa, she always loved music. But even when she cried in my arms the day after the attack when she had her first nightmare I couldn't manage a melody.

"I cannot Your Grace."

"What?"

"I cannot sing," I exclaim. "I haven't been able to for months. The music is… gone"

He rises frustrated from his chair. "What in the seven hells does that mean? It's a fucking song, just sing it! I command you!"

I inhale and exhale in and open my mouth in an attempt to obey, but just as it has every other time I've tried, no sound comes out. "I cannot-"

His hand comes up and slaps me across the face and as it does another bought of dizziness washes over me. I try to hold myself up, but a lack of wall results in me tumbling to the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he cries over me. "Where is your fight? Where is the bitch from Winterfell?" He reaches down and pulls me up by my hair. He stares into my eyes with malice and the tiny remnants of disappointment from earlier have now escalated in his eyes. "Have you truly become so weak?"

"I am not weak," I snarl but feel another bought of dizziness come over me.

"Then get up," he shrieks, tossing me down on the ground before rising back to his feet. "Get up!"

I move to push myself to my feet but the room begins to spin until I find myself laying on the carpet. I'm on my side and can see Joffrey glaring down at me, his nostrils flaring as his anger intensifies.

"Get up!" he screams.

"I can't," I reply regretfully and it hurts me so much to say it that I feel an aching pain begin to burn in my stomach.

His patience has run out and I have only a brief moment to prepare myself before his foot comes colliding with my lower abdomen. No sooner to I recover from this blow does he strike another, and another, and another, and another. All the while he's screaming at me to get up.

He keeps kicking me until I feel a sudden bursting sensation in my gut. A strange type of gushing sensation accompanied by so much pain I let out an agonizing scream. It takes me a moment to realize that Joffrey has stopped kicking and is staring down at me with his eyes wide with fear.

"What….?" He mumbles staring down at me. He drops down to his knees suddenly and tears at my dress. "Where is it coming from?" he snarls as he claws under my skirts, ripping apart the fabric until I feel a cool wind where my skin has been brought bare.

Joffrey suddenly stops clawing so frantically and just stares down at my nether region. After a few seconds he just mumbles to himself, "That's too much blood."

Another bought of pain writhes through me and I feel my body convulse until I've trembled my way onto my back. As I do I feel the warmth between my legs that oozes well beyond my knees and my lower back. Joffrey is right, there's too much blood, more so even I've been accustomed to. Another shot of pain hits and my body convulses. When it subsides there is even more blood pooling about my body.

"Too much," Joffrey snarls. "Too much blood! Stop it!"

A large banging noise comes from the direction of the chambers entrance followed by a loud cry: "What the fuck is going on in there?"

Joffrey rises to his feet and rushes for the door. I hear the sound of it crashing open and into the wall. "Get the Maester! Now!" he commands. Whoever was at the door however must ignore the command, for Joffrey begins seething and shouting at whomever it is to go or risk death.

"Sandor…" my voice is barely a whisper due to the dryness of my mouth. I reach my hand out blindly only now realizing that my sight has diminished to a grayish blur. A hand grasps it tenderly before the remaining one touches my moist temple.

"Eliza…" his voice is soft and I have a sudden humorous regret that I cannot see the change in his demeanor from its usual expression.

Another fit of pain seizes me and I let out an even more agonized pain than my last.

"I'm taking her to the Maester," Sandor declares above me before scooping me up in his arms.

My body aches unimaginably with every step Sandor takes, and it isn't long until I feel him pick up his pace. From behind us I can hear Joffrey scream: "If anything happens to her I'll have your head dog!"

00000

I wasn't conscious when we arrived at the temporary Maesters quarters – since Tyrion had dismissed Maester Pycelle nearly a month ago – but I was conscious when he began to examine me.

"This is not good," the rather young master – only two or three links to his chain – spoke as he scurried around me.

"What's wrong with her?" I heard Sandors voice across the room.

"The child had been too developed before entering the womb. It tore part of her tubing. She has most likely been bleeding internally for weeks. The strikes to her abdomen merely increased the bleeding internally," the Mester mutters out almost absentmindedly as he piles stack of tools beside the table I am laying on.

"Child…?" Sandor says, and again I have the humorous noticing of wishing to see his change in expression.

"Yes," the Maester says, matter of factly. He then turns his attention to me. "My dear this will hurt greatly. I must remove the infant and stanch the bleeding. In order to do so I must open your abdomen. There is not enough time to allow milk of the poppy to take its effect," his hand touched my forehead, "you are going to be in a great deal of pain." I nod in understanding just before he places what feels like a smoothed down piece of wood in my mouth.

"Please hold as still as you can my dear." And then he cuts into me.

Now I've been stabbed by swords and arrows, sliced by daggers and claws. I've experienced many horrible injuries in the pitiful life I have lived. But nothing compares to the agonizing sensation of having two large hands rip open my stomach and reach inside.

I fight to remain still, knowing that the more I move the more painful and agonizing whatever the Maester is doing will become. But I'm also it too much pain not to move and shriek through the wood placed in my mouth.

"Shhhhhh," a voice whispers in my ear and hands clamp down on my shoulders. I reach up with one arm and grasp the wrist of the hand holding my upper body still.

I mumble Sandors name for the umpteenth time today before I feel something be tugged out of me, sending a shooting pain souring through my body until I blackout entirely.


	25. The King of the Norths Brides

THE KING OF THE NORTHS BRIDES

When I awoke I wasn't in the Maesters quarters, and Sandor wasn't at my side anymore.

Instead I was in my own bed, wrapped so tightly in gauze that I couldn't even sit up. When I called for help it was Sansa who came bolting in first, closely followed by Shae.

"Eliza!" Sansa cried, rushing over and kneeling at the side of my bed. "Are you alright?" she asked, tears slipping from her eyes.

"I'm fine…"

"Like hell you are!" Shae cries from the end of my bed where she stands, her arms crossed over her chest and a stubbornness plastered across her face I actually can't help but smile a little. "This isn't a joking matter," she continues. "You nearly died."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Nearly three days," Sansa answers. "Maester Boren kept you under using milk of the poppy and a couple other herbs. He needed to insure that you didn't aggravate you wound since it was so large." Sansa pressed her hand to my face and then gently ran her fingers through my hair. "What happened?" she asked.

"I had a tumble down some stairs," I reply, catching the look Shae gives me form the corner of my eye.

"I thought you were going to die," Sansa whimpered through her tears. "I thought I was going to lose you too."

Now it was my turn to run my fingers through her hair. "I'm alright Sansa. I'm not going anywhere. I promise you."

00000

It took a few days until the Maester, or rather Shae, would allow me to get out of bed, but even when they did Shae restricted me to my quarters where I found myself so bored I could have poked the wound until it opened again just to find something to do. So when there was a knock at my door I was surprisingly ecstatic.

I started to make my way towards the door but a sudden jolt of pain forced me to remain in my chair. "Come in," I called.

Tyrion opened the door ever so slightly, just enough for me to make Bronn out in the hallway. "Is he not coming in as well?" I inquired.

"No," Tyrion replied with a tiny smile as the door popped closed behind him. "How are you feeling?" he asked, slowly making his way over to my bed.

"I feel as though I'm about to go mad if Shae won't let me leave these rooms."

He chuckled.

"You took a risk bringing her here."

His smile fell. "Not that I'm surprised you figured it out," he says, taking the chair beside mine. "But how did you?"

"She's too kind for King's Landing," I explain. "Too smart for a handmaiden. Her healing skills and ways of dealing with strenuous situations suit those of a girl forced into a hard profession. It was easy to figure out how the two of you met. It took me a little longer to figure out why you chose her though."

He smiled as he asked, "And what was it that made you realize why I chose her?"

"She's able to see the goodness underneath people," I reply. "See beyond the pain, the sorrow. She sees who you really are."

"You are right about that," he says, eyeing the wine goblet on the table beside me. I take the extra chalice and pour him a hefty helping. He takes the whole thing down in one swig.

"I'm sure you're not just hear to discuss Shae," I say leaning over to refill his goblet. "What has happened since I was bedridden?"

He takes a quick swig before answering my question. "News arrived from the front."

My interest is peaked. I haven't heard anything of Robb or Catelyn in months. Not since the day in the Main Hall.

"Robb is alive, as well as Lady Catelyn." I sag in my chair with relief, but the expression on his face is still one of hesitation. Like there is news he does not wish to inform me of.

"What else?" He looks up at me, still hesitant to speak. "Tyrion," I say, "unless you are about to tell me that another person I love has died, there is nothing you can tell me right now that could make my life any worse than it already is. Please."

He sighs and places his goblet on the table. "Robb has been married."

A wave of shock and joy washes over me. Robb… married. I never thought I'd see the day.

"To who?" I question.

"Some peasant woman from across the Narrow Sea," he says with a wave of his hand. "But that is not the important thing," he continues, leaning forward to take my hand. "Eliza, you do realize what Robb taking a wife means?"

And it hits.

"I'm of no use to the war any longer."

Tyrion squeezes my hand. "Now that Robb is wed, and you are not intended to be his Queen, my sister has no more use for you."

"Then how am I even still alive?" I question. "Cersei wouldn't just let me sit here. She must consider me a pest now that my usefulness is gone. What has prevented her from throwing me into the dungeon? Or placing my head up beside Neds?"

Tyrion squeezes my hand once more. "Joffrey."

I blanch. "Joffrey?" I question.

Tyrion nods. "The boy declared you were not to be harmed, at least not by anyone but him," he snarls, eyeing where I cup my still healing abdomen.

"Why in the seven hells would he do something like that?"

"Only the Gods know," Tyrion sighs, leaning back into his chair. After wiping his face down he takes another look at my stomach. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I didn't know what would happen if I did," I reply. "Joffrey can be unpredictable in his actions. Clearly." Tyrion nods before taking a final swig of his goblet.

"I am happy to see you are doing better," he finally speaks after a moment's silence. "You haven't had any… visitors?" He doesn't have to ask. I know who he is inquiring about.

"The King has had yet to grace me with his presence," I sigh in relief.

"Good," he says. He makes to stand, but hesitates.

"Is there more?" I inquire.

"Yes," he says turning back to face me. "It has to do with Lord Stannis."

"Stannis?" I ask surprised, for since the time of Ned's death my place in the politics of the Kingdom has been all but diminished to basic offhand knowledge. "What of him?"

"His has formed a large Armada and is headed for Kings Landing."

I bolt upright, aggravating my wound causing me to wince from the pain. Tyrion rushes forward to help me but I shake my hand for him to stop.

Once I have regained my composure he continues. "He is to arrive in a few months. I have the… beginnings, of a plan. But there is still a large chance that the city will be taken."

I don't have to say what I'm thinking for him to know. We both realize that should the city be taken Sansa and myself would be more likely to benefit.

"No matter the outcome," Tyrion says. "There is a request I must make of you."

"What is it?"

"I must defend this City," he says almost regretfully. "Should I succeed in doing so I ask you one thing."

"Yes?"

He takes my hand and cups my cheek. "I want you to take Sansa and run."


End file.
